From Where You Are
by luna leigh
Summary: At 21, Anne had everything: good friends; the promise of an exciting career; love. Then everything fell apart. 8 years later finds Anne living a life she never imagined for herself, but the arrival of her ex-love is about to shake everything up again
1. Pretty Things

**From Where You Are**

By Luna

Chapter 1: Pretty Things

* * *

_From where you are to where I am now is its own galaxy._

_Be a star and fall down somewhere next to me. –Rufus Wainwright_

* * *

The classroom was too hot; the windows at the back were open, but only a pathetic little breeze managed to make its way inside, doing nothing to cool the room. The air seemed thick, and the whispers from the back of the room could hardly be heard, even though they were the only noise apart from the squeak of chalk on the blackboard.

"You really think it'll work?"

"Yeah, I've heard she's a complete pushover about this stuff. Jack had her last semester and he said they always got out of doing the homework."

The two girls whispered excitedly from the back row. They leaned across the aisle to talk, their eyes glued on the back of their professor at the front of the room, who was too busy writing on the board to notice their murmurings. It had been clear, even from the first day, that this wasn't a teacher who cared very much about discipline in the classroom.

"Ask her."

"_You_ ask her."

"It's _your_ birthday. _You_ do it."

They abruptly fell silent as the professor turned to face the class again, wiping chalk carelessly from her hands as she spoke. She was at the center of the room, but she wasn't commanding anyone's attention. She was merely going through the motions of lecturing.

"So, as you can see, I've written you a few examples of scales in both the Dorian and Phrygian modes."

The professor took several quick steps over to the piano near the door of the lecture room. Her voice was nearly monotone, and like everyone else in the room, she looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else besides the stuffy room. She pressed down on a few keys.

"Let's look at the F scale. It's obviously in the Dorian mode as it has an A flat, a B flat, and an E flat." She played the scale as she spoke. Though everything else about the woman seemed dreary and drab, her playing was not. Her hands jumped gracefully over the keys, looking alive with energy.

The professor played deftly as she quickly ran through the rest of the examples she had written on the board. "Homework is the same as on the syllabus, pages 27-30 in your workbooks. It'll be due on Monday at—" She paused mid-sentence, mouth open, as one hand shot up from the back of the room.

One face was looking back at her with rapt attention; one face in a sea of boredom and complacency. The other students were low in their seats, eyes glazed over. Some fanned themselves. One boy in the third row was asleep, his head down on one arm, the other hanging over the side of the desk. Several people were busy texting on their phones.

It was late Friday afternoon, and music theory did not appear to be a particularly riveting subject for the students.

The professor gestured for the girl to speak.

"Professor Elliot," she began, smiling confidently. "I have a question about the homework. You see, tomorrow is my birthday—my 21st birthday, and I really want to give your homework my full and undivided attention, but under the circumstances I think that'll be pretty difficult. Is there any chance it can be due on Wednesday instead?" The girl widened her eyes imploringly, looking all innocence despite the cheek of her question.

Anne Elliot eyed the student thoughtfully for a moment before glancing at the roster. It was only the second week of classes.

"It's Faye, right?" Anne asked, and the girl nodded. Anne looked thoughtfully at her for another moment and then the corners of her mouth curved to form a light smile.

"I think we should hear a song to celebrate your birthday."

Ignoring Faye's look of confusion, she pulled the bench forward and sat down at the piano, her hands in the air over the keys.

"So, F-A-Y-E…" Anne paused, her head half tilted to the side. "F, A, and E are easy enough. But that Y…." She looked down at the keyboard counting silently through the keys. "It would transfer to a D."

She played the notes tentatively, and the resultant sound was discordant and not particularly pleasing. She wrinkled her nose at the sound. "Hmm. We'll have to raise _that_ up a half-step. There."

She played the four notes again, one at a time, and nodded at each one. She adjusted the bench, and without another word began an improvised song based on Faye's name.

If the students were expecting a rendition of Happy Birthday, they were quite mistaken.

Under Anne's skillful hands, those four simple notes were transformed, gaining complexity as she added their respective thirds, fifths, and dominant sevenths. The melody she played was sweet and bright. Her fingers danced over eighth notes and flew through complicated rhythms.

Then with a simple lowering of another half step, the song darkened and became a haunting minor melody. Anne lingered over certain notes, the emotion building as the music crescendo-ed. The song was beautiful, though there was something bittersweet about it. Just as the song reached its peak, she returned to the major key she had played in the beginning, the notes soaring from her fingers once again until she slowed, reaching the finale of the song. With one final twinkling of notes, she ended the song.

Anne looked up for the first time since sitting down. The last notes of the song seemed to hang in the air, lingering. Every face in the room was fixed on her in unwavering attention. The boy in the third row was actually awake, his eyes wide. More than one mouth was gaping open.

Anne smothered down a playful smile as she stood. Her soft voice carried across the totally silent room. "What a pretty name Faye has." She looked at the clock on the wall which was silently ticking away the minutes. There were still ten minutes left of the class.

"I think we'll end early today and—" Anne looked at class, and her eyes drifted over to Faye as a smile broke out across her face. "The homework will be due…on Wednesday. Have a good weekend."

In an explosion of noise, everyone began moving at once. Papers were gathered, and chairs scraped against the linoleum floor with a terrible screeching noise. An excited murmuring ran through the room. Most of the students were looking at Anne as though she had sprouted another head. Suddenly, the mouse of a woman they knew had turned into someone else entirely.

Faye and her friend were deep in animated conversation as they left the room. Finally, Anne was the only person left. She gathered her lecture notes, ran her finger lightly over the keys and then turned off the lights.

* * *

The lounge had been silent as Anne gathered her containers from lunch and prepared to leave for the day. There was just something in the air on Fridays that made it impossible for anyone to stay late and work. Minds were already far away, daydreaming about weekend plans, and the bodies soon followed. Teachers let their classes out early so they might leave and avoid the evening traffic on the drive home. Students shot off to prepare for their weekend revelry.

Anne always found herself as the last one around the department, her footsteps echoing in the unusually silent corridors. But she enjoyed this time, savored the quietness. She liked to be the one to turn off the lights and lock the doors. It beat suffering through the rush hour traffic, which was where she was currently stuck.

She let her arm hang out the open window as she waited to move an inch forward. She could hear the muffled sound of the radios from other cars and the engines of the cars next to her. The sun was setting directly behind her, and the fall air, which had been so stifling during the daytime, was finally cooling down.

Of course it always seemed to happen that the traffic jammed directly in front of Elizabeth's billboard. Anne had only seen her half-sister in real life a handful of times, none of which had been very rewarding or fulfilling experiences, but she saw her sister's billboard every day. If it wasn't exactly a friendly face, at least it was familiar.

In the ad for Calvin Klein, her sister pouted magnificently for the camera, her eyes sultry and intense in the black and white. Anne sometimes surreptitiously checked her own reflection in the rearview mirror, but to no avail. She and Elizabeth did not share a single feature, not even the famous Elliot eyes. No, Elizabeth was their father's child in more than just looks, while Anne was her mother over again.

She had long ago given up wondering how her mother, the quiet singer-songwriter, had, however briefly, fallen in love with the cocky and self-absorbed Hollywood actor that was her father.

They had never married, not even after Anne was born. She wondered if her mother had known the relationship was doomed. Surprisingly, they had managed to remain friends after the break-up. She had always secretly thought that her father was still in love, but that her mother had moved on. A funny, far-away look always came into his eyes when he spoke of her mother that made Anne suspicious, but nothing ever came of it.

Anne had lived with her mother in Manhattan, but she always spent her summers feeling thoroughly uncomfortable in her father's house in Los Angeles, and when her mother died of cancer during her senior year of high school, she had lived with her father until she went to college.

The traffic inched forward, Elizabeth's image slid slightly to the right, and Anne thought about her students and the day's class. She laughed to herself; their faces had been so _funny_.

She found herself shaking her head. It was comforting to know that her playing still moved people; she still had it! She hadn't played like that for the students for some time. She didn't know what had possessed her to do it today…

Except—except she hadn't been able to take their looks of boredom and disinterest today. The boredom extended to more than just the subject, she knew. It wasn't the music that bored them; it was her. She had always found it difficult to engage the students, but suddenly she was finding it harder and harder. She didn't understand.

The traffic wasn't moving, so she pulled down the visor to look at her reflection. She was seven, maybe eight, years older than her students. That was all. She wasn't _ancient_. What did they see?

Dark hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail more often than not. She didn't have the stunning, striking beauty of her half-sister, but she was pretty enough. She was a small and slight woman with delicate hands and wrists. She wore a standard pair of black pants and sensible shoes to class most days.

She looked closer in the mirror. There were lines around her mouth that hadn't been there before, and she was too pale; it made her look ill, almost anemic. She raised her fingers to her face, running them over her skin. She stared into her own pupils. The dark circles were swallowing her eyes, and the eyes themselves were pensive and sad no matter what she did.

Anne was stymied, trapped in an unfulfilling job for which she had no passion. Her life was wasted, was wasting a bit more every single day. To know what potential she had in her hands, and to _not _use it day after day…

Teaching had never been in her plans. She wondered if the students could see that, if they could tell how little she cared about teaching. Was that why she had never been able to really connect with them?

Because she wasn't so different from all her students. Her forehead creased as she thought. Really, she wasn't. Her life until age 21 had been relatively uneventful; she shouldn't have had a problem bonding with her students. Faye and her chatty friend—Anne had been just like them.

She gaped at herself in the rearview mirror, wondering if her senior year at university had really happened eight years ago. All the memories were so fresh. It didn't feel like nearly a decade had passed. Anne could remember everything as though it had just happened...

* * *

"_I don't know…" Anne hedged, looking uncertain. She dug her heels into the asphalt of the parking lot outside of her dorm, trying to slip out of her friend's grasp._

"_Come on," Jules Hamilton said, laughing. She latched onto Anne's arm and propelled her forward another few feet before Anne stopped again. Jules grabbed her by both shoulders this time._

"_We __**need**__ you, Anne. You know it won't sound right with just Lucy and Jim." She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes bright and snapping. "You know they can't carry a beat by themselves. They won't keep the tempo and that will ruin everything. And we need you to fill in the other parts." Jules hiked her gym bag higher on her shoulder and looked at Anne imploringly. Anne still felt doubtful, but she felt herself begin to cave under Jules's persuasion._

"_Listen, are you coming or not?" Peter said, breaking in for the first time from her side. "This amp isn't exactly weightless, you know. If you're not coming I'm not gonna bother dragging it any farther." He adjusted it clumsily in his arms, as if to demonstrate how heavy it was._

_Jules could see the signs on Anne's face as she began wavering, and she shot Peter a happy look. _

"_Oh, stop whining. She's coming. Aren't you, Anne?" Jules grabbed onto Anne's slender wrist and Anne had no choice but to be dragged to the car. "Her keyboard is already in the trunk, anyway, so we have __**ransom**__."_

* * *

_Anne sat nervously on one of the benches on the lower floor of the local mall. She wiped her palms several times on her jeans. Now that Jules's plan was in full swing, she couldn't help feeling the tingles of excitement that came before every performance, however unorthodox this one might be. _

_The five people who had crammed into Jules's car made up some of the finest students at the prestigious New York School of Arts, and they were about to put on an impromptu ballet performance of the pas de deux from the first act of Romeo and Juliet for some very unsuspecting mall patrons._

_Lucy was absentmindedly tuning her flute while Jim plucked at his violin. Jules was sitting on the floor, her legs spread far as she reached to stretch out her calf muscle. She had already exchanged her street shoes for a dingy pink pair of pointe shoes. Peter was by the stairs that led to the second floor of the mall, using the stair railing as a barre. Anne had never been in such a surreal situation. She couldn't believe what they were about to do. Jules, however, was beaming as she rose from the floor._

"_Buck up, Anne. Don't look so much like you're going to throw up. It's making me nervous."_

_She laughed despite herself, but she looked up from her keyboard with her eyebrows drawn down in worry. "Jules…"_

_But Jules waved her off. "Too late; it's show time. Wish me luck!" Before she could say anything in response, Jules ran up the stairs to the second floor, which was serving as their balcony for this performance. Peter stood waiting at the bottom and Jules gave him a little salute before they both turned to look at Anne._

_She took a deep breath and looked back down at her keyboard. As soon as the three musicians had set up at the benches, Anne had been noticing the curious glances that strangers had been giving them. She knew that in a moment they would draw the attention of everyone in the plaza._

_For a moment her mind went entirely blank, but they had been working on the ballet for their Workshop for months, and she'd had the piece memorized long ago. Even if her head was unsure, her fingers knew what to do. She took another deep, stabilizing breath, glanced at Jim and Lucy, who had moved to stand beside her, and quietly counted off the start of the music._

_Anne had known Jules before the Workshop, but they had formed an easy friendship during the rehearsals. Still, no matter how many times she saw it, Jules's dancing never failed to move her, to touch that place reserved for especially beautiful moments._

_Offstage, Jules wasn't particularly remarkable. Pretty, vivacious, but nothing out of the ordinary. Onstage…she was something else entirely._

_Anne concentrated on the opening measures. The piano, flute, and violin echoed oddly in the wide space of the mall. The deep, plaintive opening notes sounded so strange and bare without the rest of the orchestra. Anne filled in the parts with piano that needed to be filled. She concentrated on the keys and not the movements of Peter and Jules in the periphery. She knew what she would see if she looked up; Jules real persona was vanishing as she stepped into character. She didn't __**act**__ like Juliet. Suddenly, she just __**was**__ Juliet._

_She felt the gush of air that disturbed the hair around her ears as Peter flew past her, completing a series of grand leaps. He went hurtling past her, throwing himself through the air. A crowd of onlookers suddenly appeared, his movements catching the eye of everyone in the vicinity. As Jules finally rushed down the stairs and joined him, Anne looked up for the first time. She couldn't resist._

_The fact that Peter was wearing mesh shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt that said '_Dancers Do It Better_' while Jules twirled in a purple leotard and bubblegum pink slip skirt under the harsh florescent lights made no difference. They might as well have been on a darkened, moonlit stage in full regalia. They were just as arresting. Jules flowed around him and she wilted nearly in half in Peter's arms, like a snapped flower. They made it look effortless. Jules didn't just dance with her feet but with her eyes and her expressions. She had beautiful extensions and amazingly flexible hips. Like all of them, she was destined to be something great._

_The crowd formed a wide circle around the group, leaving the two dancers room to move. People were gaping down from the second floor too, leaning over the railings to see what was happening below. With the music soaring and swelling, Anne closed her eyes again, loosing herself in it as the dancers separated only to join again in another stream of movements. They twined together, furling and unfurling, but always returning to each other like magnets._

_Finally the music was slowing, the tension in the piece growing as all the jumping and leaping abated, leading to the moment of the kiss. Anne played her final notes, watching as Jules rose on her pointe shoes to kiss Peter, slowly and sweetly, hinting of the powerful emotions that fueled the rest of the ballet._

_It didn't matter that Anne knew that Peter was in a serious, long-term relationship with someone else and that Jules was the biggest flirt on the campus. Just for those minutes, they had been Romeo and Juliet. After one last glance filled with so many unspoken words, Jules ran once more to the mall stairs and her make-shift balcony, while Peter looked on after her._

_There was a four second moment of silence, and then with a sound like an explosion the entire crowd of mall patrons burst into enthusiastic applause. Jules traipsed down the stairs, glowing and laughing. She and Peter bowed over and over, smiling at the cheers they received. Anne and her fellow musicians were also applauded, and she rose from her seat on the bench to give the audience an awkward little bow of her own._

_The noise died slightly as Jules raised a hand. "Romeo and Juliet will be playing the next three weekends at the Kellynch auditorium. Tickets go on sale tomorrow. If you liked our little preview, you'll love the real show." Her clear voice carried, but before she could say more, two mall security officers arrived on motorized carts._

"_Busted!" Jules exclaimed happily, and those near enough to hear her in the crowd laughed. Anne felt a sinking feeling of apprehension in her stomach, but the officers looked more amused than irate. One even helped her carry the amp to the motorized cart as they were escorted from the premises and asked not to return to the mall._

_Lucy and Jim sat in one cart with the instruments, and with a mechanic whir, they were zoomed away to the exit. Anne, Jules, and Peter crammed into the second cart. With no other available option, Anne hopped onto the back, which wasn't so much a seat as a ledge. However, they didn't have a large distance to cover._

_As they started to pull away, the crowd burst into applause again, this one peppered with laughter, and Anne gave one forlorn little wave before the unsteady lurching made her grab onto a handhold. Behind her, Jules and Peter were laughing, and she couldn't help giggling herself. It had been an unforgettable performance._

* * *

**AN**:

1. The section in Italics denotes the past.

2. If you're curious about the ballet scene this chapter features, youtube the Romeo and Juliet pas de deux featuring Alessandra Ferri and Julio Bocca.

3. The subject of this chapter is atypical. Everything will really begin in the next chapter, and Captain Wentworth will be introduced...

4. I'd love to know what you think!


	2. 83 Percent

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 2: 83 %

* * *

_Dr. Russel tossed the newspaper onto the piano bench where Anne sat, and Anne looked up from her bag with curiosity. She had been hastily shoving the sheet music away. The older woman's look was arch, and Anne looked from her adviser to the newspaper in confusion until the picture it displayed caught her attention._

"_I suppose any publicity is good publicity, Anne, but I must admit that a shopping mall wasn't exactly high on my list of venues for you to perform." Her tone, as always, was dour, with the tiniest hint of amusement._

_Anne was busy pouring over the article. She looked it over eagerly. There were two pictures: one of Jules and Peter doing a beautiful lift while the mall crowd gaped, and one of Anne waving from the back of the motorized mall cart as they were escorted from the premises. The author of the article had praised her performance._

"_He says my playing was inspired," Anne read happily. It was the first time her name and playing had been mentioned in print. She felt a small gush of pleasure at the silly article. She wondered if Jules or Peter had seen it yet._

_Dr. Russel gave a small humph. "I'm sure the acoustics were terrible. But, at least the reporter has good taste."_

_Anne smiled gratefully at her adviser. Despite her strict appearance, Anne knew that Dr. Russel was secretly pleased and proud of the review of her student._

_Anne grabbed the newspaper and shoved it into her bag along with the sheet music, standing to leave. Her weekly lesson had ended five minutes previously. Dr. Russel eyed Anne's delicate print dress and fitted jacket; it was unusual attire for a simple piano lesson._

"_Where are you off to?" she asked Anne curiously._

_Anne smoothed her dress conscientiously. "Tonight is the 60-days-until-graduation celebration for seniors. There are supposed to be drinks and desserts in one of the auditoriums. I promised a friend I would go." Anne hadn't been thrilled by the idea of the celebration, but Jules had convinced her to at least stop by for half an hour._

_Dr. Russel smiled appreciatively. "Only 60 days until graduation…how fast it all goes. It doesn't seem too terribly long ago that you were my new freshman advisee with poor posture and an aversion to Bach." She gave Anne a look over the top of her glasses and Anne chuckled._

_Those days felt like they were from a million years ago to Anne. She could hardly remember what it had been like to be a first year student. Her days had been filled with nervousness and uncertainty, and then suddenly she'd found her place in the school, had met people and formed relationships, had felt that she fit. Looking back, she realized that she was a far cry from the young girl she had been. She couldn't have felt more ready to move on. The celebration of her imminent departure seemed very appropriate._

_Dr. Russel smacked her lips. "The cake they serve at these functions is absolutely divine. Make sure you grab a piece." She eyed Anne's thin figure. "Maybe __two__ pieces."_

_

* * *

Anne sipped her wine, more for something to do than anything else, and looked around for Jules. There were deplorably few people at the 60-days celebration. Anne didn't know if she was too early or too late, or if the rest of the senior class had decided to blow off the event. She didn't recognize the few people that were around. _

_As commanded, she'd grabbed a piece of cake from the dessert display, traded her drink ticket for a glass of cheap zinfandel, and now stood alone at one of the small, round, elevated tables, feeling foolish for having no one to talk to._

_Anne surreptitiously checked her reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the wall across from her. There was color in her cheeks, both from the walk in the boisterous March wind and her leftover tan from her spring break in California at her father's house._

_She was smoothing down the back of her hair when a newspaper flopped down next to her for the second time in half an hour. But this one was held by an attractive, smiling man. _

_His face was distinctively handsome, arresting. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, a classically straight nose. In the years to come, Anne would decide that it was his mouth more than anything else that did it. It was both proud and sensual, with humor and vulnerability. It made his already handsome face unforgettable._

"_It's you, in this article, isn't it?"_

_When Anne only stared up at him, dazedly, he offered her his hand. "I'm Derick Wentworth," he said, dark blue eyes glinting even in the fluorescent lights._

_Anne blinked and managed to return the handshake, saying her own name. She finally looked at the newspaper, which was the same one she had so recently stuffed into her own bag._

"_Yes, that's me," she said, finally regaining her footing. "Being thrown out of the mall."_

_Derick smiled, settling himself at the table next to her._

"_I thought so." He shot her an assessing look before continuing. "I've seen you before. I used to see you making this crazy run across campus all last semester. I always wondered what your story was. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask."_

_Anne felt a blush creep into her cheeks. That anyone had seen or paid attention to her daily unflattering dash across campus, during which she was sure her arms had flailed stupidly while her bag repeatedly bounced against her side was deeply mortifying._

"_Oh god," she muttered, but Derick laughed, still waiting for the explanation. Anne reluctantly continued. "I had a theory class on one side of campus and then a music lesson on the other side. The theory class __**always**__ ran over, and my lesson instructor doesn't accept lateness. Hence the running."_

_Anne didn't want to look at Derick's expression, so she heard rather than saw his response as she distractedly drank from her glass, staring down into the pink liquid._

"_Ah. I'd decided that you were just really intent on getting back to your dorm to watch Days of Our Lives, or something," he joked, and Anne felt her embarrassment melt away as he laughed. He wasn't trying to make her feel uncomfortable._

_She leaned in, sharing the joke. "It's true. I can't do anything until I've seen what happens every day."_

_He flashed her a goofy smile and Anne couldn't resist smiling back. She recognized now that he hadn't been trying to make fun of her. He gestured to the newspaper. "I didn't notice the reporter, did you? I was at the mall that day; I saw the performance."_

"_Really?" Anne eyed him with increased interest. She'd wondered what the performance had looked like to the unprepared bystanders. _

"_I was on the upper level looking down. I recognized most of you from around here, so I stayed to watch. It was a great show. You were something else. You play beautifully."_

_Anne felt a sudden deep happiness at the compliment. Others often commented on her playing, and she felt a kind of shallow thrill at their words, but this was different. This wasn't bait to illicit a reciprocal compliment in return from her. Derick was just being genuine. Anne felt the polite mask she generally wore around strangers start to drop away._

"_Thank you," she said, gratefully._

"_I hate the play, but the performance almost made me forget that."_

"_You hate Romeo and Juliet?" Anne asked with disbelief._

"_Yes," Derick replied emphatically. "It's so frustrating. One disastrous mistake after another. There are so many unnecessary complications and misunderstandings. Love makes them all act like total idiots. I don't see anything appealing in a story like that. And I can't even imagine having to act Romeo's part." He rolled his eyes at the thought._

_Anne felt a reflexive tightening of her guard and a need to be polite and distant again. She had thought he was perhaps also a musician, and disappointment coursed through her as she realized he wasn't. It explained why she had never seen him before._

"_You're in the acting school." Her tone was flat and unenthusiastic._

_Derick blinked at her reaction, laughing lightly in surprise. "Ouch. From your reaction, I'm going to hazard a guess that you don't like actors very much."_

_Anne smiled sheepishly, trying to make up for her unguarded response. "I didn't mean to imply anything. It's—my father is an actor," she finished reluctantly._

_Derick asked who, and Anne supplied the name, waiting for the inevitable slew of his responses. Twenty years earlier, Walter Elliot had been one of the most popular and acclaimed actors in Hollywood. The mention of his name never failed to bring out a series of hyper questions and conjectures. _

_How amazing to have a famous parent! What was he like? What was his house like? Were any of the rumors true? Had she met other famous stars? Had she gone to their parties? Did she ever get to be an extra on set? Etc., etc., etc._

_Anne patiently waited for it to begin. She would lose all interest in him once he asked the same old questions. Actors were all the same. She was already planning an exit from the conversation with him; she would pretend to see her friend at another table and make an excuse to leave. In the meantime, Derick looked at her thoughtfully._

"_That must've been difficult growing up. Having a parent in the spotlight, I mean. People probably invaded your privacy even though you didn't have anything to do with it. I can see why you wouldn't like actors."_

_Anne gaped at him for a full five seconds. He hadn't asked a single one of the clichéd questions, but had shown actual sympathy and understanding instead. She found she didn't know how to respond to him._

"_It's not that I don't like them." Anne found the story falling from her mouth almost without her control. "You said having one famous parent would be difficult, but both my parents were famous. My mother was a singer. Walter is fine; he's a nice man. I hardly ever spent time with him when I was a kid, so we've never been close. I lived with my mom. But there was this incident that always stood out to me." She thought for a moment while Derick watched her, waiting, listening. She fiddled with the stem of her empty wine glass._

"_Forever ago, Walter played the dad in a kids movie. It was really popular; you probably saw it. I went to see it with my mom, and onscreen he was talking to the kid just like he talked to me, and I remember thinking, which is real? Is any of it real, or is everything acting to him? I didn't know if he was really being my father, or if it was just another part to play. I never knew if I could trust that what I was experiencing with him was real. I've never been sure about actors. "_

_Anne closed her mouth then, shocked at what she had just disclosed. The wine and Derick's unusual response had loosened her tongue._

"_Not that being an actor makes you fake," she tacked on hastily and a few seconds too late to be convincing. Derick only laughed._

"_No, of course not," he said, still laughing. He ran a hand through his dark hair before continuing. "I can only speak for myself, but as fun and exhilarating and challenging as it is to step into a persona and become another character, to lose yourself in their story—as great as that is—it's always a relief to get to be yourself again at the end of the day. To live your own, unscripted life."_

_When he spoke about acting, his eyes grew dark with intensity. The subject was so clearly his passion. He looked the way Anne felt when she played the piano: alive._

"_There might be some overlap, but it's when part of your own character appears in the person you're playing. Not the other way around. I don't act for the people in my life; it's always real. Unless I'm trying to get out of a speeding ticket…"_

_There was that winsome smile of his again, but Anne found herself oddly comforted by his words._

"_An honest actor," Anne said, looking him over thoughtfully._

"_It's a difficult concept, I know," he replied dryly, and Anne laughed, her cheeks tinged a rosy pink. She realized, suddenly, how much fun she had been having with this stranger. He was confident and charming, but totally straightforward, not pretentious. She had never felt such an organic connection with anyone._

_She wondered why meeting people always felt so forced and superficial. This was the most real conversation she had experienced in a long time._

_Derick had drawn in her attention so much that she'd missed the arrival of many of their classmates. Now, small groups of people were gathered around all of the tables, and in the periphery, Anne saw Jules maneuvering through the crowd to the table, followed by several of her fellow dancers and friends. They all crowded around with their plates and drinks, abruptly changing the dynamic of the situation. Derick had to take a step back to allow everyone enough room._

_He looked around in apparent surprise. He hadn't noticed the change in the room, either. From across the room, a group of people waved to him. He touched her shoulder lightly. "My friend just arrived. I have to go get him before he stalks out of here. And hopefully there's still some food left."_

"_Try the cake," Anne suggested, having to raise her voice loudly just to be heard. He nodded and gave her a cheery smile, and then he turned on his heels and was gone._

_Anne stared after him unabashedly until Jules caught her attention._

"_That man was smoking hot," Jules stated simply, causing Anne to finally tear her attention away from the back of Derick's head._

"_Hmm?" she muttered distractedly, though a moment later she realized what Jules had said and grinned cheekily._

"_Smokin'," Jules repeated, taking an oversized bite of a cookie._

_Anne had to admit she agreed, wholeheartedly.

* * *

_

With her head on her hand, Anne blew absently on her coffee, waiting for it to cool. In the early morning hours, the street outside was quiet and nearly empty. She watched as one lonely bird jumped from the power line to the telephone pole. Oppressive gray clouds hung low, blocking the sun, and the sky promised a dreary, uneventful day.

Her mind wasn't entirely awake yet, as another Monday had jumped out upon her. She adjusted her bathrobe tighter about her waist and resigned herself to the fact that there would never be enough time. She would never be able to complete everything she wanted to in the course of one weekend. She eyed her piano regretfully. It was tucked away in the corner of the apartment, papers and songbooks strewn haphazardly around it. She felt a twinge of guilt.

She hadn't made any progress on her new composition, and now another week of grading and lecturing would keep her from it. But the real problem wasn't her lack of time; it was her lack of inspiration. Anne hadn't written anything worthwhile in years.

The grading was just an excuse; she knew she wouldn't have been able to compose a song even if she had all the time in the world. The music in her had dried up, had faded and died, just like everything else in her life.

She sighed a long, patient sigh and absently flicked the remote at the television to watch her favorite early morning show. She followed the same routine every morning; getting ready was like a ritual. The talk show always helped her wake up.

The television powered on, and the surprise of who she saw on the screen knocked the breath out of her. She found herself gripping the handle on her coffee cup hard enough to make her knuckles go white. She exhaled violently. She hadn't been prepared to hear _that_ voice, _that_ laugh, to see _that_ smiling face on the screen.

She felt that sharp, queer ache under her ribs, and some part of her was dimly impressed that even after eight years, the sight of Derick Wentworth still made her feel like her internal organs were collapsing. Anne put down her coffee cup with shaking hands, her eyes on the screen.

"So what drew you to this particular play? You haven't done a show in New York for five or six years." The host was a middle aged woman with sleek hair and an almost cartoonishly wide smile. She smiled it now at Derick, full of bubbly spirit.

Anne's eyes widened at the news. Derick was back in New York? It couldn't be true.

But there was every appearance that it _was_.

Derick shifted minutely in the chair, looking cool and at his ease. "Ben Wicks—the director, he's an old friend of mine, and when I got a look at the play he'd adapted, I couldn't turn it down. It's brilliant."

The sudden appearance of Anne's ex-love had her reeling. She hadn't had time to put up any defenses. Her only view of him throughout the years following the messy end of their relationship had been in movies, and to see him as himself and not in character was almost more than she could handle. It had been over a year since she'd seen him in a film.

He looked good, she admitted to herself reluctantly. No—great. His brown hair was as full and dark as ever. His features were still as handsome and distinctive. There were a few laugh lines around those dark blue eyes, but they still snapped with passion and intensity when he talked about acting. Anne couldn't look away from his image. She drank the sight of him in greedily.

"Your career has been meteoric. Really, it's amazing. Eight years ago, no one had heard of you. It's every actor's dream." The morning host was shaking her head, her eyes wide with apparent wonder. "You won an academy award for your first onscreen role. Do you ever sit back and think, 'Wow—I'm so lucky'?"

Derick crinkled his eyes into a smile and nodded. "Luck definitely has something to do with it; you have to be around the right script at the right time. But I think you have to make your own luck, too. As for the awards…" He named some of the movies he'd acted in. "With writing that good, it's hard to mess it up. They were just great parts that happened to come my way. I'm indebted more to the people that I've been able to work with and learn from than to luck, I think."

The host looked toward the camera eagerly. "You would have had to be living under a rock not to have seen Derick's first movie. What a huge success, both critically and at the box office." She turned back to him. "I heard a rumor that originally your character was supposed to be blond, so they had someone else in mind entirely for the role."

Derick finished taking a sip from his mug and nodded. "That's right. Mike was supposed to be blond and physically small. I was _absolutely_ wrong for the part. I remember sitting in the waiting rooms with all these little blond men, and the casting director came out and looked at me like I was insane. But I got the role. That was two weeks after I moved to Los Angeles."

"Wow, what a story," the host crooned. "And such a demanding role! By the end of the movie, your character is emotionally crushed. I remember balling my eyes out. He does everything for the woman that he loves, and she just destroys him. How did you find playing him?"

Derick raised his eyebrows, looking surprised by the question. He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Honestly, at that point in my life he wasn't too much of a stretch for me. I understood him. And I thought no one could play him better than I could. That's how I went into the auditions."

The host smiled out into the audience. "Well, we're all happy that you got that role. How wonderful for us that you're in New York. And two of our audience members have won free tickets to see your show. Let's give them a round of applause."

Derick clapped along gamely, and the camera panned to show the audience, which was made up of an unusual amount of young women. The host leaned across her desk, closer to Derick in his arm chair.

"Now, I have a 22 year old daughter who will just kill me if I don't ask this question. There have been plenty of rumors flying around about you and your co-star, Natasha Fairfax. Any truth to them?"

"Natasha's a great girl, and she was wonderful to work with, but no, we were never romantically involved. She's been engaged to Alan Churchill, the executive producer on her TV show, for months."

The host laughed, gesturing out to the audience. "You can see the collective relief across all their faces. I think everyone is breathing easier now that you're still single."

Derick laughed to himself. "The tabloids are really great for coming up with ridiculous ideas. Sometimes I'll see one that I'm on and go, 'Oh, I'm engaged to that model now? No one told _me_.'"

Anne didn't want to watch any more. The longer he spoke, the worse the feelings inside her grew. She was overrun with an uncontrollable onslaught of emotions. Usually she kept everything relating to Derick far in the back of her mind, buried. She didn't examine those feelings.

But she knew, no matter how much she wanted to change the channel, she wasn't going to get up and do it. Even now, as they moved onto a subject she didn't want to hear anything about.

"You must have women throwing themselves at you constantly." The host continued amiably. "Are you choosing to stay single? Or is it just a matter of circumstance? You've been one of Hollywood's "eligible bachelors" for several years, now. The fact that I have that 22 year old daughter with an unhealthy crush is completely unrelated, of course."

On the monitor behind them, a picture of the daughter displayed, and Derick laughed heartily. The host pointed, as if to say 'see'.

"She's lovely," he said, and then thought for a moment, head on his hand. "Well, the truth is that I'm just a monster," he said, grinning wickedly.

The host rolled her eyes as the audience laughed. "Right."

He continued after a moment more seriously. "No, the real truth is that it's a difficult life to balance, and it's hard to make a relationship work when you're working 18 hour days for months at a time. Especially if your partner has their own career that they're equally as devoted to. It's hard to make that compromise. I've honestly just been too focused on my work. But I'm not picky—have a woman compliment one of my films and I'm just putty." He flashed a bright smile.

"Hear that, ladies?" the host exclaimed.

His smile seemed to wane, and he paused before he spoke next. "The one thing I will say is that I'm attracted to women who know what they want, who know their own minds." He rubbed the skin around his mouth for a moment. "There's nothing as unattractive as people who let others make their choices for them. I could never be with someone like that." There was a bitter curl to his mouth as he spoke and something almost like spite in his voice.

After a moment, he seemed to realize that he had slipped into a serious tone because he suddenly smiled. "Oh, and she has to make a killer grilled cheese sandwich. I'm a sucker for them."

The host's smile suddenly flared back to life, and she turned to the camera. "You heard the man—brush up on those sandwich making skills. You can see Derick's new movie, opening in theaters tomorrow, and if you live in the New York area, you might just be able to get a ticket to his play, but it's closing in a week, so hurry! After the break, we'll hear from our musical guest Woodhouse. Stick around."

The screen switched to a commercial about high cholesterol medication, and Anne blinked away the tears that had suddenly formed in her eyes during the last segment of the interview. The ache inside her had intensified; she felt like someone had used her for a punching bag. In essence, during the last few minutes, Derick _had_.

He had no way to know that she was watching, and it had been eight years since their messy break-up, but his words had clearly been directed to her. Who else?

It was most painfully clear that he had not forgiven her; still resented her; _despised_ her even.

'_Nothing as unattractive as people who let others make their choices for them_.' She heard the sentence again and again in her head.

Anne gave a short little sob before she quickly controlled herself. She turned off the television, pushing the buttons with more force than necessary. It wasn't even 8 o'clock yet and she had a full day of teaching ahead of her. She couldn't afford to have a breakdown this early in the week. She steeled herself, drinking her coffee, which was almost cold now.

With a Herculean effort, she shoved Derick to the back of her mind. He had no place in her life now, and he wouldn't have wanted the place, no matter the circumstance. That much was obvious. It didn't matter if he was in New York. She knew that they weren't going to meet.

In a week he would return to L.A.; he would go back to being that distant ache. She would hide him and their history away again, lock him up and toss the key. She wasn't going to cry over this ghost from the past. Anne squared her shoulders; she would dress and prepare for her day, business as usual.

* * *

"Business as usual," said Aidan Croft, the dean of students and head of the colloquium series at the college. With a clap, he rubbed his hands together excitedly. Dr. Croft was in charge of bringing in all the big-name playwrights, virtuoso musicians, and renowned actors for an annual series of lectures. He was exceedingly good at his job, but not particularly adept at leading faculty meetings. Anne's attention had long since strayed from Croft.

Somehow, the idea that Derick was here in the city wouldn't leave her thoughts. Usually she had thousands of miles of buffer, but now he was _here_. Where was he staying? Did he spend his free time out in the city? Did he go see plays and concerts? Would he ever think to go to any of their old favorite restaurants? Anne imagined running into him at the deli, at the grocery store, as they both hailed the same taxi…

"As some of you already know, I'm very pleased to announce that Derick Wentworth has agreed to be our keynote speaker this year."

Anne immediately snapped out of her daydream and shot forward in her chair with a jolt that knocked over her open coffee cup. The liquid shot down the table in a brown stream, and in the pandemonium that followed as those sitting closest to her leapt to their feet to avoid the steaming liquid, no one heard Anne's small cry of shock and disbelief. Everyone was grumbling, flicking spilled coffee off of their hands and shirts.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry," she mumbled hurriedly. She could _not_ have heard what she'd just heard. It couldn't be. She had been thinking about Derick, and so she'd just imagined that Dr. Croft had said it, too. That was it.

But as she mopped up the mess, pushing the sodden paper towels around the table, everyone returned to their seats and Croft continued, dashing all her hopes that it all had been her overactive imagination.

"Right," he said gruffly. "As I was saying, Derick Wentworth will be our keynote speaker this year."

Anne's heart pounded frantically against her rib cage, in horror, in disbelief, and in quiet longing.

No one asked Croft how he had done it. It was common knowledge that his wife, a former A-list agent, had an almost magical pull with actors. Every year without fail, the school managed to draw in a big name for the colloquium series.

"Wentworth has agreed to do a question and answer session and a lecture, and he'll be doing a special performance of the one-act play he's currently in. It'll be the last show in the students' Workshop. We've had it added to the program. I expect we'll make a killing in ticket sales this year."

Quiet murmurings had broken out all around the staff table during Croft's speech. The faculty couldn't hide their excitement. The news would inevitably spread as quickly as wildfire throughout the school, and Anne knew that it would be impossible to keep the students on task.

They would want to discuss one subject only: Derick Wentworth.

She didn't know if she'd be able to stand it, having to hear others talk as though he meant nothing to her, to hear his name again and again… The knowledge that they were about to be forcibly put in the same location was unbearable. She didn't know what to do with herself.

As the faculty meeting ended, Anne rushed to the quiet solitude her office offered, instead of staying to mingle with the other professors as she usually did. She closed the door to her office and sagged against it, closing her eyes tiredly. Her breathing was still uneven. She was certain that she was the only person on the entire campus dreading the arrival of Derick Wentworth.

Had he known that she was teaching here when he'd agreed to the offer? They still had a few mutual acquaintances who might have told him what she had been doing with her life.

But Anne knew that she was not the reason he was coming. That idea was impossible. She would have to be an idiot to believe that, especially after their past…

No. Instead it was coincidence. Pure coincidence. She knew their first meeting in eight years was doomed to painful awkwardness. She, at least have, would have enough time to prepare herself for the sight of him. Derick was not so lucky.

Anne put a hand over her eyes. She could imagine perfectly his look of utter shock and displeasure at the first sight of her. His lip would turn up and his eyes would narrow.

Everyone would be watching and they wouldn't be able to think of a thing to say to one another. The dreadful memory of the past would loom silently between them instead. It would be unmistakably clear how much he hated her. Anne couldn't think of a situation closer to hell. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a sudden resolve. She would have to avoid, at all costs, meeting Derick Wentworth again.


	3. Your ExLover Is Dead

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 3: Your Ex-Lover Is Dead

* * *

_Anne pulled her coat tighter to her body as the relentless March wind propelled her across the campus to her practice room. She planned to spend the rest of the night hammering away at the allegro movement of her audition piece. With only seven weeks left until graduation, the daunting task of finding a job was looming closer and closer. Dr. Russel, with her seemingly endless connections to every musical establishment in the state, was working Anne at a frantic pace._

_Anne didn't particularly want to spend her evening in her cramped practice room, but she also didn't want to see the look on Dr. Russel's face at her lesson tomorrow if she __**didn't**__._

_It was with a quickened heartbeat that she watched Derick Wentworth exit from the building to her right, and she slowed to a stop on the sidewalk, running a hand quickly through her hair to fix the kinks. He was only a short distance away; it was unmistakably him. She was suddenly glad that she had remembered to brush her teeth before leaving her room after dinner._

_After their initial meeting at the 60 days until graduation event, she had started running into him frequently on campus. He had a special knack for being in the school's courtyards at the right time. She would walk out of the building after class only to have him catch up to her a minute later. He always looked effortlessly cool and totally nonchalant, as though he hadn't meant to run into her at all. Anne didn't know how he managed it. They would stand and chat for a few minutes or walk together if they were going in the same direction._

_She found herself increasingly attracted to him with every meeting. It was more than just that smile of his and those snapping blue eyes. She'd never had a boring interaction with him; she found herself actually disappointed every time one of their conversations ended. He was by far the most interesting person she had ever met, and she secretly hoped that their now frequent run-ins were more than just a coincidence._

_However, this meeting between them was pure luck. She watched him hurry away from the building, waiting for him to notice her. His classmates shuffled through the doors behind him, their laughter and conversations fading as they disappeared into the evening air. After he took a few more steps toward her, his pace slowed, and he smiled happily as he caught sight of her. Anne felt a bright smile tugging at the corners of her own mouth and she hurried toward him. He met her halfway with a cheerful greeting._

"_You've got an evening class?" she asked curiously. It was late to be hanging around one of the academic buildings otherwise. He nodded and then rolled his eyes skyward._

"_I thought it was never going to end."_

_Anne laughed lightly at his apparent distress and he continued._

"_I've been dying for a coffee; I was just headed to get one. What're you doing now—did you want to come with me?"_

_He looked eager, and the hopeful look in his eyes made Anne's insides squirm happily. She had to bite back on the powerful urge to yell 'yes!'._

_Anne wanted to go get coffee with him, spending the evening talking, staring into those eyes, but if she wasted her whole night like that, Dr. Russel would murder her tomorrow. Anne wished she could be irresponsible and blow off her practice time, but she just couldn't let herself do it._

"_I can't," Anne said forlornly. She looked into the distance unhappily and shifted the bag on her shoulder. She didn't want to see the look on Derick's face as she turned him down. _

"_I've got to practice for a lesson tomorrow; I've put it off all day. I'm on my way to the practice rooms right now."_

_Anne mentally cursed herself for procrastinating. If she had just practiced like she was supposed to, she would be able to go with him now. She felt angry and frustrated with herself. Derick had looked disappointed, but he perked up at the mention of the practice rooms._

"_I forgot that all the music people have their own space. I've never seen one before; are they nice?"_

_Anne shrugged noncommittally. She'd never given much thought as to whether the room was nice or not. "They're okay, I guess." _

_Derick laughed. "You probably spend way too much time there to judge."_

_It only took a second of looking up into his face before she was struck by the idea. Maybe there was a way to spend more time with him after all._

_She suddenly smiled up at him. "The building isn't far from here. Did you want to go see my practice room?"_

_

* * *

Anne felt oddly furtive as she let Derick into the building. He was allowed in, of course, it just wasn't often that non-music majors stopped by the practice rooms. The corridors were empty and silent except for their footsteps echoing as they walked toward her practice room._

"_It gets creepy down here at night, especially if you're the only one around. I hate being the last one here. I always feel like I'm in some low budget horror movie and something's about to jump out and get me."_

"_A-a-a-a-n-n-n-n-n-e-e-e," he said, imitating a zombie with his arms held out in front of him._

_Anne laughed, mostly because the joke was so lame. Derick continued to surprise her. He didn't fit any of her preconceived notions. Because of her father, she had frequently met actors all through her childhood. In her experience, people who were attractive, and especially people who __**knew**__ that they were attractive were not particularly nice. _

_They didn't ask how her day had gone, they didn't hold open doors for her, and they definitely didn't make stupid zombie jokes. _

_It was becoming clear to her that under his handsome exterior, Derick was nothing at all like how she had pictured an aspiring actor to be. He wasn't vain or self-absorbed; in reality, he was kind of a nerd. She shook her head at him, still smiling, and he dropped his arms, pleased that he had made her laugh._

_They could hear the strident tones of an only slightly muffled trumpet as Anne found her keys and reached to unlock her door. Derick stood close to her, and she spoke more to distract herself from his proximity than anything else. She felt hyper-aware of him: of how close or far his body was from hers. She fumbled with the keys as he leaned a shoulder against the wall._

"_The rooms are mostly soundproof, but some of the sound still gets through. That's James playing." She nodded her head to the door on the other side of hers. "Curt is in there. He plays the saxophone, so sometimes I walk down here and it's like Miles and Coltrane."_

_She pushed open her door and flipped on the fluorescent lights, which flickered a moment before steadying._

_The room was as unlovely as ever. One of the school's old baby grand pianos filled almost the entire space. On the sill of the small vertical window sat a pathetic, little dying cactus. Sheet music littered every surface of the room, and Anne rushed inside to tidy it up, plunking her bag down on the chair. The air was stale and she felt embarrassed as she pictured the room through Derick's eyes. All its flaws seemed to pop out. He, however, was looking around with happy interest._

"_So this is it: my magnificent practice room," she said as she knelt to pick up some of the music from the floor. She saw his sneakers cross the floor from the corner of her eyes, and she looked up at the sound of the piano._

_Derick stood before the instrument and was slowly and methodically plunking down the bass part of _Heart and Soul._ Anne smiled to herself and deposited the sheets of paper on the small stand. She watched the back of his dark head and the turn of his shoulders as he fumbled his way through the tune. _

_He had to hunch slightly to play the keys. Anne couldn't help thinking that he seemed so incongruous to the room. He was too tall. The room felt almost oppressively small with two people in it._

"_Impressive." She commented on Derick's playing with mock seriousness in her best Dr. Russel impersonation. He gave her a one sided smile._

"_Isn't it? That's after a year of lessons when I was seven. My old teacher would be so proud."_

_He stopped playing then and shoved his hands into his pockets, smiling lightly down at her._

"_Don't stop," Anne said hurriedly. "I haven't played this since I was seven, but let's do the duet." She moved the stool to the side and stood next to Derick in front of the keys._

"_Really?" He looked delighted, and she could almost imagine what he had looked like as a child._

"_Sure. I'll do the 'heart' and you keep doing the 'soul'._

_He laughed and rubbed his hands together, blowing on each one in an exaggerated gesture of preparation._

"_Get ready: I'm not sure you can keep up with this."_

_Anne laughed, tilting her head to the side. "I'll do my best."_

_She let him play the lower part of _Heart and Soul_ a few times before she joined in with the upper notes. After a few rounds of that, she added a third improvised counter-melody with her other hand. Their shoulders and the length of their arms bumped together occasionally as they played, and Anne looked up to see him smiling brightly as he concentrated on playing the notes. She smiled wickedly to herself and began to play significantly faster. Derick glanced at her quickly in surprise._

"_Tempo change: go faster!"_

"_Hey! Not fair."_

_It became a race then to see who could play their part the fastest. Anne couldn't help laughing as Derick dropped half the notes and concentrated on hitting just one key as rapidly as possible. The notes fell apart into an incomprehensible jumble of sounds, and they finally both stopped, breathless from laughing, their shoulders still touching._

_She loved the engaging sound of his laughter. It made all of his features light up. She tilted her head up to look at him. The smile slowly faded from his mouth, and the air seemed to get stuck in her lungs as she realized that they were just standing, looking at each other. Neither of them had moved apart, but she finally took a step back and managed to get a breath in._

_There was a new tension in the air that hadn't been there before they played the duet, and it was making her pulse jump. She couldn't seem to maintain eye contact with him. She found herself looking at Derick's mouth instead, at the turn of his lips in his soft smile. The color rose in her cheeks as the moment stretched, and Anne finally moved over to the music stand and shuffled the papers absently, putting her back to Derick._

"_So, this is the practice room," she said lightly, trying to dissipate their tension. She knew she had to be imagining things. Just because he was here didn't mean that he was interested in her. She forced herself to try to relax._

"_You play really beautifully," Derick responded._

_Anne had to close her eyes for a moment as she quickly breathed in and out, but she responded lightly, still turned from him. "Thanks. So do you."_

_Derick's voice was lower this time, just loud enough to cover the few feet between them. "No, I mean it. I've never heard anyone play the way you do."_

_Anne took two shallow breaths, feeling entirely overwhelmed. _

"_Oh," she said quietly and half turned to him. She still couldn't make herself face him straight on. "It just takes practice. Speaking of which, I should probably get to practicing."_

_She said it reluctantly. She had finally remembered her purpose for coming to the practice room in the first place: her audition piece. Most of her wished that she hadn't remembered and hadn't said anything, but it was already out of her mouth._

_She saw Derick nod his head out of the corner of her eye. He was only a foot away, and she was afraid of what would happen if she looked directly at him again. The air felt so charged._

"_You sure you don't want that coffee first?"_

_Anne closed her eyes, still half turned from him. She didn't know how to say that she wanted to get that coffee more than anything else, just to have a few more minutes to talk to him and look at him, but that Dr. Russel would __**kill**__ her and then bring her back to life just to kill her again if she wasn't perfect at her audition piece._

_And if she were honest, that wasn't the only reason she was stalling. The intensity of her feelings toward Derick scared her. It wasn't right to want him this badly when she'd only met him a week ago._

_She exhaled and turned to him slowly, reaching toward him with her hands. It was an unconscious gesture; something she always did while trying to explain herself to someone. She managed to say a few words about just why it was that she couldn't go get coffee with him before he bent his head and kissed her._

_The kiss was questioning, tentative. His mouth just brushed hers. The next was less so as Anne responded to him, recovering from her shock enough to throw her arms around his neck. When he pulled back a minute later to take a breath, she felt like it was an eternity before he kissed her again, though it was only a second. He brought them closer, one hand on her hip, the other on the back of her neck, tangled in her hair. Anne kissed him with more eagerness and feeling than she'd ever kissed anyone, unaware for some time that anything else existed apart from the way his mouth slid against hers._

_The back of her legs eventually made contact with the piano, and the discordant jangle of the keys as she half sat against them brought her to reality. They were both breathing heavily. Anne looked up dazedly as Derick leaned down, placing his hands on either side of her on the keys, his face close to hers._

"_About that coffee," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair around her ear._

_Anne nodded yes emphatically without even thinking. She would follow this man wherever as long as he kept kissing her like that._

_He kissed her once right at the junction of her jaw, under her ear, and Anne shivered involuntarily, but then he took a step back giving her room to move, and Anne quickly jumped up and grabbed her bag from the chair. She fumbled with the zipper on it, her fingers feeling clumsy as she rushed to leave with him. After all, one missed practice session wouldn't make that much of a difference…_

_At the door, he smiled goofily at her, his hair mussed, eyes bright, and Anne smiled back, giving him a decidedly goofy smile of her own._

* * *

Anne knew how stupid it was to worry over her outfit. Foolish. Unnecessary. Derick was going to give a lecture, that was all. She wasn't going to it, so she wouldn't see him. Her attendance at his lecture wasn't necessary, and it seemed idiotic to purposely put herself in his path.

There had been some danger for a while; Croft and the other professors were taking him out to lunch, and they had wanted her to be a part of it. She'd made up excuses, feeling trapped and uncomfortable. But no one had had the slightest idea that she might have a real reason for wanting to avoid Derick, so they'd left her out of the plan. It had been surprisingly easy. He wouldn't see her. It wasn't going to happen.

So why was she still trying to pick out what to wear?

She held them to her body, one after the other. The lilac top, the blue sweater, the green cardigan. The lilac was too dressy. The green was too dumpy. She held the hangers still for a moment before throwing them violently onto her bed in a pile.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe calmly, but the snide voice would not stop echoing in her head. If she didn't care at all for him, if he were ancient past, why was choosing an outfit so difficult on this particular morning? Why had it felt as though she hadn't slept for a minute the night before for thinking of him, imagining him, remembering the past?

Setting her teeth, Anne grabbed the green cardigan. It was her usual garb; she wasn't going to make an effort for _him_. In that vein, she tied her hair back tightly. It made the dark circles look like bruises under her eyes, but that was usual, too. She wouldn't even put make-up on. Anne willed her expression to be steely in the mirror, but it didn't do much good. She still looked like a small, scared child. The day was here, and she had no choice but to go out and face it.

* * *

"Good lord, Anne. You look _awful_. You want an aspirin?" Mary looked in concern at Anne's peaky complexion and shook her bag, which rattled ominously with pills. Mary carried them for all her various aches and pains, though Anne suspected that half of the prescriptions were no longer legal.

Mary Kingston had been teaching at the university for as long as anyone could remember. There were always rumors that this year was going to be the year she retired, but it never happened. Anne secretly believed that the reason for this was that Mary needed an audience. The students and fellow professors gave her ample opportunity to moan about being old and decrepit. If she retired, she would have no one to tell about her pains. And Mary dearly loved to talk about her pains.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," Anne responded, smoothing back her hair self-consciously. It wasn't at all reassuring to hear that she looked as terrible as she felt. Derick's lecture was happening in an hour. Anne knew that he was on campus, only a building or two away from her, and she was finding increasingly that she was _not_ fine. Her nerves were stretched taut with tension. Mary, so adept at noticing her own problems, had no difficulty noticing Anne's.

She squinted at Anne and rattled her purse again. "I think I've got a Valium or two in here; you look like you could use one." Anne smiled reluctantly, but shook her head again.

"Suit yourself."

It was clear that Mary had not suffered from the same anxieties as Anne had that morning. Her short gray hair was curled, and she wore blush and lipstick. Her eyes snapped with excitement.

"You should have been at the lunch, Anne. That man…I tell you, mmm. If only I were 30 years younger. I can't believe I have to miss his lecture for Eileen's 6:00 ballet class. I told her, just play a recording of a piano, the girls won't know the difference, but no. She's got to have somebody playing. And that room is too cold. Every time I play there I can't hardly stand afterward. My arthritis gets so bad. You'd think they were trying to kill me off. And jesus, those girls. I can't hear myself think with all their chatter. Makes my head feel like it's splitting open. If you ask me, Eileen's just trying to make me miserable because she can't go see Derick speak either."

"I'll do it," Anne said, the words tumbling from her before she could stop them. The panic inside her had reached its breaking point as Mary spoke. She realized she didn't have the self-control to stay away from the lecture. She couldn't trust herself. No matter how much she dreaded the thought of meeting him again, some small part of her still longed for the sight of him.

"Do what, honey?" Mary asked, tilting her head.

"I'll play for Eileen's class. You can go watch him speak." Anne had filled in for Mary many times before. Mysterious, sudden illnesses often kept Mary from playing for the evening ballet class at the last minute.

Mary sat forward in excitement. "You're sure?"

Anne nodded, feigning nonchalance. "Yeah. It's not a problem. Go to the lecture."

Mary clasped her hands together and then began to excitedly rummage through her purse. She pulled out a compact and a tube of lipstick, reapplying a coat on her top lip. Suddenly, she paused before she started on her bottom lip, the lipstick held midair, and her eyes jumped from the small mirror to Anne.

After a long moment, Mary finished with the lipstick and then snapped the compact shut. She eyed Anne skeptically. "Why don't _you_ want to go see the lecture? Even if he's horribly, unbearably boring, he'll still be great just to look at."

Anne inhaled, thinking quickly. She searched her many reasons for not wanting to see Derick for one that was appropriate to tell Mary.

She shrugged and tried to smile lightly. "I've actually met him on a previous occasion. We were at the same undergraduate school, so his lecture doesn't particularly interest me. He's just another actor, after all," she finished with false bravado.

Mary's eyes bugged. "You've _met_ him? Derick _Wentworth_? I can't believe you never said anything. I had no idea he went to the New York School of Arts. That means you're even the same age. What else are you hiding?"

Anne raised her shoulders helplessly, looking for a way out of the conversation. Mary was like a bull-dog; Anne knew she wasn't going to stop until she knew everything. She made a big gesture of glancing at the clock, and Mary followed her gaze. "You'd better get going if you want a good seat," she said slyly.

Mary scooped up her purse, moving very quickly for a woman of her age with so many proclaimed ailments. Her face shone with excitement. "I can't thank you enough, Anne. He was too far down the table at lunch for me to really talk to him, so now I've got the chance to try again after his lecture. Tell Eileen 'Ha!' for me," Mary said triumphantly on her way out of the door.

Anne sighed deeply in the sudden silence, sinking far into her chair. She put her elbows on the desk and then rested her head in her hands, eyes closed. She felt a great wave of relief. The small part of her that had been filled with excitement at the thought of seeing him protested, but she suppressed it mercilessly. This was right, she was certain. She wasn't being cowardly; it was simply much better that she not see him at all. Better for her, better for him, better for the universe.

She felt a knot of muscles relax in her abdomen for the first time all day, and she rotated her shoulders, loosening them. She had avoided the situation and felt she could breathe deeply again. She glanced at the clock and then rose, preparing to make the walk over to Eileen's six o'clock ballet class.

* * *

Hands deep in her coat pockets, Anne hummed Chopin's_ Fantasie-Impromptu_ as she walked. It had been simple to concentrate on the music as the girls went through the exercises, through the tendus, the plies. Music was always so simple, so clean. It filled her spirit and her mind so that there wasn't room for anything else. It had been so easy to clear her head of the fact that Derick was speaking only a building away from her.

She had waited half an hour after the class had let out to make her way to her car. It was in the lot behind the lecture hall, and however slim the chances, Anne did not want to risk a run in with Derick. After all, she had managed to avoid it thus far. But by now, he would be long gone; all the faculty members would be gone as well. No one ever stayed this late. Anne was going to go home, make a cup of tea, and maybe try to bang out a few measures for her composition. She felt oddly inspired.

The sight of the girls in their pink tights and black leotards had done something for her, had cleared some block. She could almost hear the bars of music, forming themselves already in her head. It would begin simply and gracefully, just like how their arms had all moved slowly and perfectly in unison.

Anne walked down the steps to the parking lot, picking out her car in the dusky, late autumn light. There were only a few other scattered vehicles. She saw that Mary's car was still parked next to her own, but made nothing of it until she noticed the small group of people at the bottom of the stairs. As their light chatter wafted up to her, she realized that she recognized the voices, and one voice in particular seemed to tug at the memories she had been suppressing all day.

Her legs suddenly felt heavy as she recognized Derick in the group with Mary and Dr. Croft. He was in a black coat with the collar up against the wind that was blowing his hair across his forehead. Mary was clearly beside herself at being so close to him. Anne could hear the excited timbre of her voice, but she couldn't make out what the woman was saying.

It was like she had forgotten how to move, and she had to force herself to walk down the last steps to them, one stiff footstep first, and then another. Her grip on the cold metal railing was so hard that it hurt. After years, it seemed, she reached the pavement and the three of them. She looked at Croft, she looked at Mary, and almost helplessly, she looked at Derick.

The sight of him was burned on to her eyes, like he was the sun. She didn't know what she had expected. His face was stony and closed-off, like a stranger's, but it was somehow worse than a stranger's because it was void of _all_ emotion, even curiosity or displeasure for the sight of her. Anything he felt about seeing her again for the first time was completely hidden. She wished, irrationally, that he wasn't such a good actor.

Her heart beat dully in her throat as Mary greeted her happily and with surprise. Anne's thoughts were fractured. On one hand, she was counting the hard, quick beats of her heart—one—two—three, and on the other, Derick's face was the same as she remembered—just _exactly_ the same—and that way he had of holding his shoulders—but there was no trace of any expression on his face. He was staring straight ahead at Mary, concentrating all his energy on her.

"Did the practice run long, Anne? I figured you'd be gone by now."

Anne said no, surprised by how normal her voice sounded. She felt like she had a fuzzy connection to them, like she was talking across thousands of miles of ocean, but no one seemed to hear a difference. She could think of nothing else to add; her mind was a blank. She found that she couldn't stop looking at Derick, no matter how much she wanted to. She was _staring_ at him, openly. But it was just as well; he was doing a magnificent job of completely ignoring her presence: an impressive feat in such a small group.

"Anne, this is Derick Wentworth. Derick, this is Anne Elliot, one of our talented music professors." Croft introduced them politely, noticing Anne's apparent interest, and Anne was almost tempted to shake Derick's hand and continue the charade of not knowing him, as he was so brilliantly hiding any recognition for her whatsoever. He'd merely inclined his head slightly at the introduction.

Mary leaped into the conversation. "Anne said that you two had met before. That you went to the same school, and I said that I had no idea you studied acting in New York."

Anne flinched at Mary's words before she could stop herself. She wished Mary had brought up anything but the subject of their past. Something had flared in Derick's eyes at the mention of having met Anne previously, and for the first time since she'd joined the group he actually looked at her, some emotion trying to crack through his icy expression. His eyes were hard, but the brutal look faded from them as Mary continued.

"So did you know each other? Anne didn't say," Mary said, looking excitedly between Derick and Anne. She obviously wanted the two of them to have a past.

Anne's mouth sagged open, a wave of nausea rising inside of her. She found she had no ability to answer the question. Her own face felt numb, her expression frozen. She looked helplessly at Derick. How could she possibly answer? He shot her one quick glance before he responded for the both of them.

"Not really, no," he said clearly and carelessly, his voice hard, and Anne felt pain blossom inside of her like a bruise. She bit down on her teeth to keep her face from twisting. His statement had said everything. She couldn't hear anything else.

"Oh, really?" Mary sounded disappointed. "Shame. Though I guess the music and acting schools never do mix together much."

A quiet 'no' was Derick's only reply, but Anne found that she couldn't stand there for a moment longer. Bile had risen up in her throat. She wasn't sure if she was going to vomit or not. Her eyes were so dry that they burned.

"Excuse me," Anne said with her eyes at shoulder level. She looked at no one. "I'm going to head home." Her voice sounded pleasant enough, though it kept falling flat.

She sidled past Mary, deaf to the woman's protests for her to stay, and purposefully walked to her car. She didn't look back. The only thing she could possibly focus on was getting there. She unlocked the door and got in, fastening her seat belt as she normally did. She was moving on autopilot; her mind wasn't able to grasp the situation she'd just experienced.

She didn't remember the drive home, but once she was in her apartment, Anne prepared herself the cup of tea like she'd told herself she would, filling the kettle with water, waiting patiently for the whistle and the steam before she took it from the stove and poured the water in the mug. Her movements were easy and sure.

As long as she was moving, she was safe. She did it all without thought, without emotion. She found herself staring into the mug as though it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen, but she looked without seeing. She waited for the tea to cool, thinking that Derick's remark had been like a nuclear blast, burning away all her nerves and all possible feelings she could have had. She felt empty of him, felt nothing but a deep hollow feeling.

"It's over," she repeated to herself again and again. "It's over." She wasn't sure what she meant by it.

But as she sat with nothing more to do, with nothing to keep her hands busy, she could no longer keep from hearing his voice, hearing his words. She ran through the conversation of their unexpected meeting again. Just at the thought of what he had said, she slumped at the table with a sinking gasp and a sob, burying her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably with more feelings than she could bear. She couldn't lie to herself at a time like this. Beyond all doubt, it seemed there was still something left in her that cared, after all.


	4. Scheherazade

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 4: Scheherazade

* * *

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light.  
Tell me we'll never get used to it. -Siken

* * *

_His mouth was warm on her neck as he placed a kiss right below her ear. He made a trail of kisses, moving languidly from her jaw to her collar bone, nuzzling in the hollow of her throat. The top button of her shirt was undone with nothing more than a lazy flick of his thumb and index finger, and then the next button followed, and the next._

_But then the loud, jingly notes blaring from her cell phone made Anne's eyes pop open, and she wriggled away from Derick to turn it off. It was her alarm: the one she had set so that __**this**__ wouldn't happen; the one that was supposed to make sure she made it to her lesson with Dr. Russel on time for once. _

_Anne unsteadily stood and buttoned her shirt, her nimble fingers running quickly up the buttons. If she left in the next ten minutes, she would be on time for her lesson, and she wouldn't even have to run._

"_Stop; I just undid all of those."_

"_I have to go," Anne said as she rushed around the room. She had only a vague idea of where she'd left her socks and shoes and no idea of where her coat was._

_Derick propped himself up on an elbow, watching her from where he was on the bed. "Tell her you had some kind of emergency; tell her __**I**__ had to go to the hospital," he finished, looking inspired. "She'd like that."  
_

_Anne ran her hands through her hair like a comb, straightening its disheveled appearance. She looked around for the hair clip that she'd been wearing earlier. She didn't know how all of her belongings had quickly become so scattered._

"_I can't stay, Derick." Anne shot him a reproachful look. He knew that she had to leave. He was just trying to be difficult. He'd purposely started kissing her five minutes earlier so that she wouldn't go. She hopped in place, wobbling unsteadily as she tried to slip on her sock while standing._

"_What do you mean, 'you can't'? You can do anything you want." He smiled cheekily at her, looking entirely too innocent as he lounged there._

"_Fine. I __**shouldn't**__ stay," she parried. "Dr. Russel already thinks you're a bad influence. Skipping another lesson with her would only cement her opinion. She'll know I'm with you."_

_It was Dr. Russel's firm belief that anything that distracted Anne from her playing was evil, which clearly made Derick Wentworth the devil. A lazy one at that—she'd never seen a depiction of a devil in only his pajama pants._

_She had never felt so happy before, but at the same time, nothing had ever knocked her life so far off kilter as Derick had. He was like a vortex, like a black hole. She wanted to be with him constantly. When Anne was with him, she forgot about the rest of the world._

_She didn't know how long it had been since she'd spent time with anyone else. She couldn't remember the last conversation she'd had with Jules or her other friends. She'd been neglecting them horribly. For the last weeks, her relationship with Derick had been all-encompassing. Of course her piano playing had suffered. Dr. Russel had every right to be worried. She didn't know how to balance him and the rest of her life. But she had promised herself today that she would go to her lesson, no matter what. She had to start showing some discipline; otherwise her carefully ordered life was going to fall apart._

_Without thinking, she sat down on the edge of the bed to slip on her shoes. With a growl he reared up and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to lie down next to him. Anne let out a yelp of surprise, but she couldn't help smiling as he pulled her close, and she let him hold her without complaint. Being so close to him felt too nice for her to put up much of a protest. _

"_What're you working on anyway?" he asked with his lips on her hair. "The song you played for me the other night?"_

_Anne nodded. "It's for my audition with Shauna Wright."_

_Derick shifted to give her a questioning look, so Anne elaborated. "She's this virtuoso violinist who's looking for an accompanist, and Dr. Russel managed to get me an audition. I was really lucky to even be considered; she's literally world-renowned. The audition is in a couple of weeks, right after graduation, and if I get it…" Anne broke off, closing her eyes and smiling widely. "It'd be everything I've ever wanted. It would open up so many opportunities." The thought of it all made her heart thud against her ribcage. She buried her face in his chest briefly. "It's my dream, and I'm so close…"_

"_You'll get it," Derick replied without a moment's pause. His voice was full of confidence in her. "You will."_

_Anne smiled up wickedly at him. "Not if I don't go to this lesson."_

_Derick groaned, but he loosened his hold on her, and Anne sat up._

"_Plus, __**you**__ have play practice in half an hour. I think the director might be a little mad that you suddenly decided to take a day off," Anne continued reasonably._

_Derick gave a loud humph, but then he looked at her mischievously. "I'll skip if you skip…" he challenged, but Anne smiled in bemusement and shook her head no._

"_It doesn't matter anyway; it's not like any casting director in L.A. is going to check up on how many practices I missed for this play."_

_Anne felt the smile quickly fade from her face and she had to look away from Derick to hide her expression. His sudden mention of the subject she had refused to even think about had brought tears to her eyes. They had avoided the subject altogether, as though not speaking of it would prevent it from happening, but they were running out of time._

_They were both graduating in a matter of weeks, and after that, everything was uncertain. Now, they could spend all day, every day together if they wanted to, but after graduation…_

_The inevitable truth seemed to be that they would end up thousands of miles apart with Derick starting his acting career in Los Angeles while Anne stayed in New York for her music. Anne had never cared so deeply about anyone, and to have to lose him so quickly was agonizing. She didn't want to give him up. She honestly didn't think she __**could**__ give him up. _

_Derick was looking at her strangely, trying to understand her sudden shift in mood._

"_What's wrong?" he asked quietly, but the look on his face showed that he already knew the answer to his question._

_Anne blinked furiously, clearing her eyes, but she still sounded forlorn as she spoke. "I'm going to be here, in New York, and you'll—"_

"_Why?"_

"_What?" Anne asked slowly, unable to comprehend what he meant or the sudden excitement on his face. Derick had sat up and was leaning close to her, his eyes focused and intent._

"_Why does it have to be New York? Come with me to L.A. instead."_

_Anne's mouth dropped open; she couldn't help it. Her pulse was suddenly rushing through her veins. She stared at him for a few moments in silence. "Are you serious?" she finally managed to say. She could barely hear herself over the roaring beat of her heart._

"_Yes!" Derick replied emphatically. He had his hands on her knees as she sat in front of him. "Move with me. Why not? I love you; I'm crazy about you. You have to know that. I don't want to live thousands of miles away. I want you with me."_

_Anne couldn't think. She'd had to force herself to keep breathing; Derick's confession of his feelings had knocked the air out of her lungs. Her cheeks were glowing._

"_You'll be able to do music in Los Angeles. There are just as many opportunities as in New York. You can compose there, too, or work for the ballet; I don't know. But you're brilliant. You won't have any trouble finding someone to work with. I know it."_

_His enthusiasm was infectious. He made her believe in everything he said. How could it be anything other than wonderful if they were able to stay together?_

_Anne couldn't look away from him. He gave her a small smile and ran his hand gently through her hair. "Come with me," he said quietly, his hand on her cheek now, his face so close to hers._

"_Okay," Anne whispered after a few seconds. She'd never been surer of anything than Derick in that moment. Everything he said was possible. There was no reason for them to be apart. It was so simple after all. They would make everything work._

"_Really?" he asked slowly, sounding breathless._

_Anne nodded happily. "Yes," she said, and she couldn't keep the laughter from bubbling into her voice. "Yes," she said again and she kissed him, cupping his face in her hands. He was looking so full of wonder and helplessly happy; she couldn't resist. He kissed her back, laughing against her mouth. Anne felt incoherently happy. They were both giggling like fools._

"_Your lesson…" he murmured after a few minutes. Anne pulled away to look at the clock, biting her lip. Then she shrugged and smiled, leaning into him once again._

"_I'll skip if you skip…"_

* * *

With her red pen, Anne slashed viciously through a miswritten triad. She was giving more attention than was strictly necessary to grading her students' homework in the hope that Mary would take the hint and leave her office, but the woman was unstoppable.

The students' Workshop was scheduled for the upcoming weekend, and Mary had been chosen to play the piano music for the one-act play that Derick would be performing; it was her new favorite subject. She'd just returned from the first rehearsal.

"Apparently there was some sort of problem with the original piano player. No one would tell me anything about it when I asked. They've had to change everything at the last minute. I got the music for the one-act _this morning_. Honey, I don't know why you're not the one playing it. It sounds like trash when I do it."

Anne had wondered at the choice herself. Mary was a much better teacher and the students loved her, but Anne was by far the better musician. If they'd had to find a pianist at the last minute for the play, she was the only logical choice. Anne didn't regret not being chosen; she was overjoyed. The one-act was having several rehearsals during the week before the performance, and the cast was _very_ small. If she'd been chosen, she would have most certainly had to interact with Derick. She had the shrewd suspicion that Derick had specifically requested someone other than her for that precise reason.

When Mary had first entered the office and spoke only of Derick, Anne had barely been able to keep her frustration in check. But she suddenly felt some gratitude toward her coworker. The more Mary spoke of him, the more Anne felt that she was building up a tolerance to the mention of his name.

She had felt raw and exposed, like her history with him was clearly displayed for anyone to see, but now it was like she had a tough skin on, covering her and protecting her. It was far from pleasant, but she was able to sit and listen to Mary without wanting to scream. If Mary kept it up, she might not even feel anything at all by the end of the day, she mused. Anne felt proud of herself until one of Mary's comments proved the new skin wasn't really so thick.

"That man is perfect. You were crazy for not going to the lecture, but at least you got to see him afterward. I can't believe he stayed so long. When he was done lecturing, he let anyone who wanted come up and talk to him. He signed a bunch of autographs; I think he might actually be a nice person under all that gorgeousness. It's too bad you never got to know him even though you were at school together. But after you walked away he said that he wouldn't have recognized you without the introduction. Said he'd completely forgotten about you. I guess with his lifestyle it's not surprising, and you must have been different back in school. Changed your hair or something."

Anne stared at the papers in front of her in fierce concentration, willing the words to just roll off of her. The notes had blurred and she stared at them, unseeing. Her jaw was clenched against the sting of what Mary said. She thought that it must hurt so badly because it was true. What resemblance could she possibly have now to the happy young woman she had been? There was nothing left of her that Derick would recognize. Just because she'd thought about him every day didn't mean he'd done the same. He'd probably been happy to forget her.

"You should just _see_ the way he flirts with that actress in the play with him—Lauren Musgrove. It's outrageous. I think even the director was starting to notice. He didn't look very happy throughout the rehearsal, anyway. After sitting through a practice with them I believe those papers; I think there's definitely something going on between Derick and Lauren. Clear as anything"

Anne had seen the headlines about the two in the tabloids for herself while she'd waited in line at the grocery store and had felt no reaction. She was used to seeing his name coupled with other actresses. She wondered why hearing it now made her feel so awful.

Without realizing it, she had stopped grading and was staring at Mary intently, eyebrows creased into a frown, her pen held slightly aloft in the air. Seeing Anne's interest, Mary continued on excitedly.

"They're like a couple of teenagers, honestly. Like _them_." Mary thumbed over her shoulder, indicating the undergraduates as a whole. "The way they were romping around the rehearsal together...Ridiculous. You know, it's a pain in my ass to have to go to these stupid rehearsals. Once again, they could just use a recording. I think people must find some kind of joy in watching me sit on that rock hard piano bench for hours." Mary sighed terribly.

For once, Anne was actually interested in the subject. Too interested. She knew asking for more details about the rehearsal could only hurt her. Mary would mention more about the way Derick had flirted with Lauren; she didn't need to know the fine points on _that_. Anne swallowed back her questions; she would spare herself the pain of knowing more.

Anne threw her pen down upon the desk, flexing her fingers to try to ease a cramp. In only a few hours, she'd finished what normally would have taken her the whole night to grade. It was amazing how much grading she could get done when that grading gave her a valid excuse to not think about Derick. But she was tired now; she couldn't do anymore. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly time for her to go anyway.

Mary looked at Anne in confusion as Anne stood from her chair and made motions to leave. She obviously hadn't finished saying half of what she wanted to say about Derick. "Where are you going?"

"I'm meeting my father for a late lunch. He's in the city for a few weeks filming." They rarely spoke while Walter was in Los Angeles, but whenever he came to New York, he would take Anne out for a meal. He seemed to feel it was his fatherly duty.

Mary's eyes went big and she sat up. The mention of Walter Elliot never failed to raise her spirits. "Is he still with that tramp?"

Anne smiled at the term as she slipped her coat on around her shoulders. "If you mean Penelope Clay, then yes. They've been married a year now. She's quite nice."

Penelope had found her fame starring in sappy romantic comedies. She was a mere month older than Anne, and Mary had obviously taken offense to Walter marrying such a younger woman. She only grumbled in response to Anne's comment, and Anne had to laugh. "I'll make sure to tell him you say hello."

At this, Mary perked up again, and Anne was finally able to get her out of her office.

* * *

Walter tossed his napkin onto the table and reluctantly agreed to pose with the two middle aged women, but Anne knew he was secretly pleased. He smiled happily and even wrapped his arms around the two of them. The women looked totally beside themselves with excitement. They didn't ask who Anne was, but pressed the camera into her hands. Anne snapped the picture, smiling in response to their smiles, and then handed the woman back her camera. He took his seat across from her again, looking smug.

At 55, Walter Elliot's blond hair was nearly all gray, though still thick. His face and stomach were both rounder than they had been in earlier years, but his famous blue eyes were still as sharp, his smile still as charming.

He flashed that smile at his youngest daughter before burying his face in the menu, reappearing a few minutes later.

"Where's that waiter," he mumbled impatiently. Walter was used to first class service, and not receiving it made him instantly irritable. However, the establishment they were dining in wasn't known for its service; Anne had chosen it for its modest price. He never would have stepped inside the restaurant by his own choice, yet it was within his price range while all his other favorite dining spots in the city were not.

The past decade had not been kind to Walter financially. Poor investments and a never-ending series of bad business ventures had nearly bankrupted the famous movie star. A competent and brave financial adviser had finally talked some sense into Anne's father, but not before the damage was done. He'd very nearly lost his home. In an effort to bolster his income, he'd recently starred in a flurry of B-list movies. It was the reason he was currently in the city.

"How's filming going?" Anne asked, after Walter had finally hailed a waiter and placed their order.

"Hmm?" He rested his elbow on the table and put his chin in his hand. "Oh, it's godawful," he replied, looking heavenward. "It's the sequel to some movie that never should have been made in the first place. It's about some nobody model who's catapulted to international stardom and then regrets the loss of her privacy, but not enough to quit. The script is atrocious."

In a characteristic gesture, he suddenly roared with laughter. "Your sister Elizabeth was supposed to do a cameo, but they couldn't meet her price. Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he mused. "It's going to bomb. The critics will pan me for it." Anne knew that he thought too well of himself to really let that bother him.

As they waited for their meal, she knew that he must have caught his reflection in the glass partitioning that separated their table from others because every few minutes he would look to it and run a hand through his hair. She was impressed when he managed to ask her a question or two about her life before he slipped back into contemplation of his favorite subject.

"My agent wants me to do a movie about ballet dancers. I'd be the company director, or something. I haven't looked at the script because it's _ballet_ for god's sake. I don't think even I can stoop that low. Though it is an extra 200,000. It probably can't be any worse than the garbage that I'm dealing with now."

He paused for a moment and looked thoughtfully at Anne. "Be glad you're like your dear mother. Acting is a terrible business. Terrible."

Anne smiled down at the table. She'd lost count of how many times she'd heard him say that same exact sentence. It was one of his favorite sayings. But she knew he loved his profession deeply: maybe even more than he loved her. As Walter took another moment to check his reflection, Anne sat back in her chair, suddenly remembering a different lunch meeting with her father. She didn't know why it should pop into her head _now_ of all times, except, of course, that it revolved around the man she'd been trying not to think about all day.

* * *

"_Elizabeth said she was sorry she couldn't meet us, but she had to fly to Paris for a shoot," Walter drawled. Anne wasn't surprised; she'd only ever seen Elizabeth come to one lunch and that was because she had been in the building next door. Her sister was a very busy person, especially when it conveniently absolved her from family events._

_The silverware gleamed in front of Anne. The fresh flowers in the eccentric vase on their table were throwing off a heady floral scent. She felt uncomfortable and out of place in such a luxurious setting._

_When she'd arrived, the hostess had looked her over from head to toe with disdain, which then turned visibly to shock as Anne gave her name and the person she was meeting. The hostess continued to give her looks as Anne sat down across from her father. Walter, on the other hand, looked magnificent in the posh setting. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit of an expensive cut. The gold on his watch gleamed in the restaurant's lights. He twirled the wine absently in his glass as he spoke, and Anne knew that the bottle had cost more than what the hostess would make for the entire day._

"_And I said, '3 million', and he said, 'well—maybe'." Walter roared at his own story, his hair thick and blond, graying at the temples._

_As soon as he lowered the menu, the waiter rushed over and took their order with a deference that bordered on ridiculous. Walter dropped an easy thousand on their meal, and then leaned back in his chair, looking entirely in his element._

_He took a moment to really look at Anne for the first time since she'd sat down and had to pause in his thoughts. Something about her—he couldn't place it. He looked quizzically at his daughter, taking in her pink cheeks and the glowing smile that never seemed to leave her face. She was a pretty enough girl, he thought. Nothing to Elizabeth, but then not many women were._

_He'd always secretly lamented the fact that she hadn't inherited the Elliot eyes. Instead, Anne's were a dark brown that he'd always found flat, but now they glittered with light, looking bright and alive._

"_You look pretty," he said slowly, almost puzzled. He couldn't identify what was different about her, but she started at his compliment, smiling sweetly._

"_Thank you," Anne replied. She couldn't remember the last compliment she had received from him. She couldn't remember if he had ever given her one before._

_He'd been speaking of himself for some time, but he paused to ask one of his rare questions about her life._

"_Are you graduating this year?" At Anne's nod, he continued. "So you're staying in New York then?"_

_Anne took a deep breath before responding, running her fingers over the silk tablecloth. She'd never expected for her father to be the first to hear the news, but it seemed oddly appropriate, somehow._

"_Actually, I'm moving to Los Angeles."_

_Walter looked momentarily surprised, but he recovered smoothly. "Back to the house? Well, you're always welcome, but we moved all that exercise equipment into your old room—"_

_Anne smiled wryly. "No. I'll be with my boyfriend."_

"_Oh?" Walter didn't have any old-fashioned ideas or sense of propriety, but the knowledge that he was her father seemed to be making him put forth an effort and energy he normally wouldn't have expended. He puffed his chest out for a moment, and his voice was gruff when he spoke. "And who is this boy? What's his name? What does he do?"_

"_Derick Wentworth. He's an actor. He's going to be an actor," she corrected._

_Walter leaned back in his seat, two fingers supporting his chin, a look of arch amusement on his face. "Ah. I see." He picked up his wine glass, twirling the liquid again, giving her a look of utmost pity. "Oh, to be young and naïve again…"_

_When Anne questioned him about his meaning, he only shook his head._

"_No, nothing. I was only wondering how many times he's asked to meet me."_

_Anne flushed as she understood his insinuation. She gripped the napkin on her lap with balled fists. "None," she said stiffly, almost stammering over the words in her agitation. "It isn't like that. He wouldn't—"_

"_Mmhmm," Walter replied blithely. "Anne, my dear, I don't think you understand how difficult it is to make it in this career. Your boy may be wonderful, but that doesn't mean he's going to get a job. In fact, it probably means he __**won't**__. L.A. is full of hopeful young actors and they're all waiters. How long do you really think it'll take before he's asking you to meet me? Asking for some small parts: for favors? In this business, it's all about who you know, and honey, your daddy is a gold mine of contacts." Walter smiled in self-satisfaction. "I'd be insulted if the boy didn't try to get to me through you. He'd be completely stupid not to."_

_Anne had been clenching her jaw throughout her father's speech and she forced herself to relax it. She knew he was trying to advise her, to help her see what was best, but that didn't take any of the bite from his words. She suddenly felt small and unsure, like a child. Something in her chest felt like it was being pinched.  
_

"_Derick isn't like that. Not at all. He would never…" she was saying hotly, but she trailed off as Walter continued to look at her, unflinchingly unconvinced._

"_You'd be surprised, Anne. When you've been in the business as long as I have, you learn some things about people. It's not as easy as it seems to get discovered. Actors waste half their lives waiting for their break. People will do anything for their chance. Anything." He winked at her. "Just be glad you're like your dear mother. Acting is a terrible business. Terrible."_


	5. A Color Of The Sky

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 5: A Color of the Sky

* * *

though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, I never got her out, but now I'm glad. What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle. - Hoagland

* * *

Anne crossed the empty stage to the grand piano with the music for Derick's one-act play clutched under one arm. She felt wary and uncomfortable. She couldn't believe what she was doing.

Without any satisfactory explanation, Mary had given her the music earlier that morning and told her that she would be playing for the Workshop performance. Although Mary herself had said that Anne should be the one to play the music, it was easy to see that the older woman had been offended by the switch.

The news of the abrupt change struck Anne speechless, but in the next moment she was filled with horror. It was bad enough that Derick had been commissioned by the university for the colloquium series. Worse that he was actually _on campus_ rehearsing and would continue to be until the students' Workshop was over. And now they were going to have her sit and watch him flirt with another woman? It was insufferable; she'd rather die.

Anne had been about to protest vehemently, but then she saw the score to the one-act.

The play was Derick's project; he was intimately connected with it, and Anne's curiosity got the better of her. This was the play that had gotten him to return to New York. What could possibly have made it so special? Now that she was handed the opportunity, she wasn't able to resist giving the score a once over, even though she fully intended to refuse. They would have to make do with Mary's playing.

But with one look, Mary and the office receded far, far away. One look and she knew that the music would be wrenchingly beautiful. This wasn't something that had been slapped together: a thoughtless score for a thoughtless play. It was music: _real_ music. She didn't even need to play it; she could hear the notes. Any ideas of refusal fell away. She had to play it. It was so good that it left her no choice. She no longer questioned why the job had been handed over to her. Mary never could have given the performance that the piece deserved. Anne was the best person at the school to play it; she was the only person who could do it justice.

After flipping through all the sheets, she eagerly returned to the cover page to see who had composed it. The name Rebecca Harville was unfamiliar, and Anne was sure she'd never come across the woman's work before. With a shrug, Mary left the room, leaving Anne to peruse the music more thoroughly.

Her fingers itched to play it all day. Anne was almost shocked at her own eagerness. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so excited to sight-read through a composition. She arrived at the play's rehearsal twenty minutes early so that she could do just that. She wanted her first reading of the music to be for herself.

The sound of the door closing behind her echoed through the giant space of the auditorium. The pit was closed off, covered by the stage floor. She knew that for the real performance she would be down in that chilly space, but for these practices she would play the piano on stage.

She rubbed her hands together, warming them. The air in the empty auditorium was very cold. Dust motes floated all around her, lit up by the stage lights. She was struck by strange feelings as she sat down at the bench. Now, with everything silent, she could almost pretend that this was a recital. She closed her eyes, imagining every seat filled, imagining that they had all come to hear her play.

She didn't have many opportunities to play in the auditorium, and she usually avoided it when she did get the chance. She could never enjoy a performance; she was too aware of her losses. But today had already proved to be an unusual day, and with the entire place empty, playing gave her an odd sense of comfort. Like slipping on an old pair of shoes to find that they still fit perfectly.

She played a few cautionary notes, testing the tuning and familiarizing herself with the instrument, and then she spread the sheets out before her.

She had known the music would be beautiful, but it was haunting, poignant. The notes of the score blazed forward, twisting and building in bright leaps of sounds and melodies before almost unnoticeably quieting. The music fell in on itself, collapsing into simplicity. The last notes reverberated through the air; it was a glowing sound.

Anne repeated the last few notes again before smiling to herself in quiet contentment, her head bowed. In the aftermath of the music, she felt full of a singing emotion. She knew it would be ephemeral; she knew that as soon as she opened her eyes the feeling would be gone, but just for the moment she felt satisfied and at peace.

She made a note to herself to look up the composer; Anne had to know if the woman had written anything else. It was rare that she found music that touched her this much. She sighed, not wanting the moment to end, and stood and turned from the piano bench.

Every muscle froze as she recognized Derick standing ten feet from her, perched just inside the side entrance of the auditorium. Her heart stalled and then skipped frenetically back to life. She didn't have enough time to put up a front, and for a moment she faced him openly, the emotion in her face naked. They looked at each other in unbroken silence. It was a scene from earlier years.

Then Anne remembered their last meeting. She remembered the things he had said and the way he had looked at her, and she looked away, gathering what defenses she could.

"I didn't know you were there," she said flatly, looking down at the music. She had to say something. For the moment before she broke the silence, it had been difficult to remember that they hadn't spoken for eight years. But now the gulf widened again.

His shoulder was pressed against the door frame. It was a small comfort to her that, at least this time, he couldn't feign composure. The stony look he'd worn the first time they'd met was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his tumultuous expression and the play of emotions across his face told how much the moment had confused him as well.

"You play it better than the other woman. I knew you would," he finally replied, softly. He hadn't moved from the doorway, as though he couldn't force himself to come any closer to her. "That's why I requested that Ben make the switch to you."

He said it as quietly as he'd said the rest, but the meaning of the words caused a wave of emotion to rush through her. Anne's head snapped up and she looked at him sharply. She found it impossible to believe what he had said. His remark was like an explosion in her head; suddenly a thousand different thoughts were all racing each other to get to the surface. But they were all useless and incomprehensible. She couldn't even make an attempt at a response; her mouth felt glued together.

But in the next moment a woman's bubbly laughter and the slam of a heavy door rang out in unison, catching Anne by surprise. Derick's features, which had been tense with some unidentifiable emotion, lightened and he flashed a bright, carefree smile at the new arrivals, his whole demeanor shifting.

Anne turned to look at them, too. She was both grateful and angry at the interruption. It was a woman and a man. They walked easily down the aisle from the front doors to the stage, and Derick moved to meet them in the middle without another look or word to her.

Anne tried to relax her shoulders; she felt like an outsider. The woman she knew to be Lauren Musgrove both from magazine photos and from what Mary had told her. Anne tried not to, but she couldn't help sizing up the other woman. Lauren looked as though she had never missed a night of sleep in her life, with wide, bright eyes and fresh skin. When she laughed, which was quite frequently, she tossed her head back and her dark hair rippled across her shoulders. She seemed very likeable, which was a shame because Anne wanted to dislike her very much.

Anne assumed that the other man must be the director; Lauren and Derick were the only two actors in the one-act play. He was shorter than Derick and slighter. He wore glasses with dark frames and had a week's worth of facial hair. And though the other two were already busy in boisterous, animated conversation, this man had yet to crack a smile. He only looked on patiently as Lauren took mock offense to one of Derick's remarks and playfully pushed his shoulder. With panic, Anne suddenly felt that no music, however great, was worth this experience, but she finally moved away from the piano and walked toward the group to get the introductions over with. They all turned to look at her as she approached.

"You must be the newest new piano player," Lauren said cheerfully. "I'm Lauren."

It was déjà vu, Anne thought as she gave her own name in response; she was with another small group of people, about to be introduced to Derick yet again. This time she felt only slightly less like vomiting. She purposely turned toward the director to avoid the unnecessary introduction.

"Ben Wicks," he said, his voice gruff and unused sounding. "I'm the writer and director. I appreciate you jumping on at the last minute."

His face remained politely closed off during his introduction. Anne wasn't sure how to read him; although he sounded perfectly amiable as he said that he was looking forward to hearing her playing.

Derick and Lauren traipsed over to the stage, and Anne had to look away as Lauren reached up and playfully ran her hand through Derick's hair, ruffling it as she passed by him. Anne closed her eyes, took one controlled breath, and made her own way back to the piano as the rest of the crew assembled to do a run through.

She was surprised when Ben appeared, pulling a chair behind him, and sat down next to the piano.

"I hope you don't mind; I thought I might give you some insight into the play so you can get a feel for how the music should go, for its dynamics. This first time around I'll just cue you so you know when to start and stop."

Anne nodded and smiled gratefully. She had been very curious about what kind of play the music represented.

"It's about death—slow, drawn out death. The little bit that dies inside people every day," Ben said calmly in response to Anne's question about the plot.

She tried to keep the surprise out of her expression. There was a hollowness to Ben's eyes and a sadness in his smile that made her wonder if there might be a streak of autobiography in his play.

"I adapted it from a short story called _Landscape with Flatiron _by Haruki Marukami. June and Miles—that's Lauren and Derick—they're both empty inside. Lost and confused. You see, life didn't turn out the way they'd imagined it would."

Anne made a noncommittal noise as the crew moved quickly around the stage, adjusting props and lights. She had felt a jolt in her stomach as he had spoken of the characters. She absently rested her fingers on the keys, trying to keep her face neutral. She was finding too much of herself in the characters; it was unnerving. Everything Ben said could have described her and her life.

"The two characters sense the loneliness in the other. It's what draws them together. It's why Miles goes out at night to the beach and makes his bonfires. They don't have a romantic relationship. There isn't any love between them. Neither one can really help the other, but they take comfort from being with someone who understands them, who understands that empty feeling."

"That sounds beautiful," Anne said quietly. She thought if she tried to speak any louder she would betray too much emotion. The play hit her in all her vulnerable places. She loved the music more now, knowing that it fit the story it had been made for. She wondered again about the composer, about the woman who had written such beautiful music, but Ben spoke before she could mention it.

"It _is_ beautiful. Wait until you see it. It turned out so much better than I ever thought it could. Derick is something else. He's too young to play Miles—the character is in his late 40's, but after I saw him read the part, I couldn't imagine anyone else doing it. We just put him in stage make-up and nobody knows the difference."

Anne didn't have to wait long to see for herself; Ben had them begin the rehearsal. The play began as the two characters met on the stark and lonely setting of a beach at winter. The silvery sad notes from Anne's piano fell like snow on the scene.

Lauren was a good enough actress, and she said her lines well, but even when he was simply sitting, saying nothing, Derick quietly upstaged her. He was riveting in the way he moved, in the way he spoke. His performance was subtle, nuanced. Even though it was only a rehearsal, he was mesmerizing. He carried the simple, raw play to a new level. The two characters didn't do much more than watch a bonfire burn down to nothing, but Anne never felt bored. Ben had her fill in the silences between the characters with the music.

Derick held a fake twig in his hands, twirling it restlessly, and when he spoke his lines, his voice was much more gravelly than usual. "The flames accept all things in silence, drinks them in, understands, forgives."

Watching him, Anne felt her breathing speed up. She realized that she was wishing he would look over to her, to look at her the way his character looked at Lauren's character. Just once, she wanted him to look over at _her_. She thought, with a quiet astonishment, that the feeling coursing through her was jealousy. She was jealous! Jealousy toward the 22 year-old woman who was only acting a part; it was absurd. She tried to check herself.

But a moment later she actually had to look away from the pair onstage.

Lauren suddenly laughed, throwing her head back as an elusive line failed to come to her in time, and Derick leaned over, shaking her shoulders playfully. She leaned into him, nudging him back. Anne suddenly remembered the bright look that had crossed his face as soon as Lauren arrived that afternoon and her mouth twisted bitterly.

No matter how she thought about it, it came down to the same thing. Once, she had been on the receiving end of Derick's playful flirtations, but no more, and almost certainly never again. Instead, it was Lauren who tussled with him in between the start of scenes. It was Lauren who gazed up at him with flirty, mischievous eyes. And it was Lauren who received his wry smirks and smiles in return.

Eight years, Anne thought to herself again and again. Eight years was too long to still be so conscious of his looks and his gestures. It was too long for a simple turn of his shoulders to make her ache. Too long to still care so much about him. Anne concentrated sternly on the music, but the simple fact remained that there was no one else quite like Derick Wentworth.

It had been eight years, yes. But in that time she'd had no one to distract her, she realized. Not one man had even come close. She'd had every day to think about what had gone wrong, what should have been instead, and of what was. She'd had every day to think about how much she missed him.

It was an overwhelming relief to her once rehearsal ended. Anne tried, but ultimately failed, to shut her ears to the sound of Derick and Lauren making plans to get something to eat together. Lauren flashed her a smile as they walked off the stage, but Derick didn't look her way again. He seemed to be too absorbed in the conversation. She lingered purposely by the piano, putting the sheets of music together one by one so that she wouldn't have to hear any more of their words as they left the auditorium.

On his way to the side door, Ben paused by the piano. He was looking at her differently now that the rehearsal was over, with newfound respect on his face.

"When Derick suggested…I have to admit that I didn't expect…" He paused delicately, and then continued with a new sentence. "Your playing adds something just right to the dialogue, something that was missing. I'm glad I let Derick talk me into having you play."

Anne blinked away her surprise, feeling, on top of everything else, a small sense of pride. He didn't wait for her to find something to say in response. He gave her a stiff nod before striding to the side door, leaving her alone with the last of the crew members and her troubled thoughts.

* * *

Staring up at her dark ceiling late that night, Anne finally reached a few conclusions. For the millionth time, she tried to find a comfortable spot and close her eyes, but to no avail. With this second meeting of Derick, sleep had been far from her reach, but after hours of contemplation, she was starting to feel like she understood everything.

He didn't hate her; that much was clear. Perhaps they would never be totally comfortable around each other, but he didn't actively dislike her.

And he respected her as an artist; he could still appreciate her playing. Anne had felt some relief from that thought. He'd promoted her and gotten her the job over Mary, even though there was nothing in it for him. He clearly still wanted the best for her in the professional realm. She could see the thoughtfulness in his gesture.

If he had hated her, he wouldn't have suggested her as a pianist to Ben. She knew that her presence at the rehearsal must have been equally as difficult for him as his was to her, yet he still respected her art enough to overcome that. Anne couldn't help being flattered. It had become clear to her that he still cared about her in the most basic way, as one artist to another. There could be nothing between them, but at least he didn't despise her.

It also seemed clear that his romantic feelings were toward Lauren. It hurt, but Anne thought she could deal with it. She still felt bitterness at the thought of him with someone else, but she would get over it. She would force herself. She had no other choice except to go insane. Part of her, it seemed, had accepted long ago that she could never have Derick again. Maybe Lauren could be everything that he needed.

Their course was set. If Derick wanted Lauren, Anne would have to leave him to it and settle for the small comfort that he still respected her. They could never be friends and meet for lunches or go see shows together, but now they could at least be cordial, she thought, tossing her head back against the pillow. It was only their second time seeing each other, after all, and they were getting better at it already. A few more run-ins and it would be like there had never been anything between them. Anne tried, unsuccessfully, to feel happy at the thought.

* * *

Anne settled uneasily into a seat in one of the small auditoriums at the university. She had debated all day about whether to come see Derick's second talk for the colloquium series, but without the excuse of playing for the evening ballet class, she had no viable reason not to and no power to resist coming. The crowd would be large enough, she had reasoned. Derick wouldn't be able to pick her out of the slew of people, and he wouldn't assign any special meaning to her presence if he did.

For her, it was a chance to see him without the polite mask that he wore when they saw each other at the rehearsals.

Tonight, he was doing a question and answer session for the school of acting. She would be able to see him as he had been eight years ago, as he still was with everyone but her. It was the reason she hadn't been able to stay away.

Anne sank lower into her seat, ducking her head as Derick and an older man, one of the acting professors, crossed the stage. The professor crossed to the podium while Derick took a seat.

"I'm happy to see so many faces in the audience tonight. Hopefully you all came with insightful questions to ask." He paused a moment, eyeing several people in the audience who were almost certainly in one of his acting classes. "I'm here to introduce a man who needs no introduction," the professor said, leaning into the microphone. The audience had immediately hushed at the sight of the two men, and though he wasn't speaker, most of their faces were focused on Derick. Anne noticed that the majority of people in the audience had notebooks and pens out, ready to jot down notes.

"His stunning performances in countless films and play productions speak for themselves." He went on to name a few of Derick's more famous works before finally calling Derick forward amongst loud applause. He approached the podium with an easy smile, a water bottle swinging from his hand.

"It's nice to see so many familiar faces from the lecture. I'm glad I didn't bore you to death the other night." The audience laughed, and Derick leaned forward, smiling. "So, what do you want to know? Hopefully I'll be able to give some kind of intelligible answer."

The audience laughed again, but a few hands rose in the air almost immediately.

A young man in the second row spoke first. "I get the feeling that you try not to be type-casted into any particular type of role. You've played so many different kinds of characters. I was wondering if there's any character that you've been dying to play. What's your perfect role?"

Anne shut her eyes, already regretting that she had come tonight. She didn't need to see Derick's face; she knew what answer he would give already.

"That's easy. Hands down, it's Ophelia."

The audience tittered, and Derick smiled cheerily. "I'd love to play someone who goes completely insane," he responded seriously. "A total crazy person."

Anne shouldn't have been surprised by all the feelings that such a simple statement brought up. This memory was always there waiting for her and had been especially since Derick had returned to her life. Hearing him say those words now instantly brought back everything from an eventful night many years earlier. She couldn't keep the images from her head, couldn't help thinking about the time that she'd asked him that same question. He'd given nearly an identical answer.

* * *

"_I think Ophelia is the best role that anybody could ask for," Derick continued as they cruised down the slick pavement of the city street._

_Anne laughed, looking out the windows at the pedestrians hurrying to get out of the rain and the dark. Their images were distorted by the drops that fell heavily on the window._

"_Seeing as how she's a woman, I think you've got a bit of a problem."_

_He smiled. "Just a bit. But really, there's so much freedom in a role like that. You could do whatever you wanted with it. I'd love to play a character like that. I can't wait until we're in L.A."_

_Anne felt a twinge of guilt and apprehension and she looked down at her hands in her lap. She'd always believed that Derick would make it, that he would find success. But ever since her lunch with her father, the gnawing feeling inside her would not leave._

_What would they do if he __**didn't**__ succeed? The thought had never crossed her mind before, but now his inevitable failure was all she could think of. What would happen to all his passion and idealism when his only roles were as extras in local auto-insurance commercials? The thought of Derick miserable and defeated was horrifying to her. Her father had brushed away her naïve, happy thoughts and filled her with crippling doubts._

_When she made no response, Derick turned his head from the road to look at her for a moment._

"_What's up? You've been weird all day."_

_Anne didn't know why it was suddenly so hard to speak. "I had lunch with Walter yesterday. I told him I was moving with you to California," she finally said._

_She watched the tension creep into Derick's shoulders, but he kept his eyes carefully on the road. _

"_And? There's more, isn't there? You wouldn't be acting like this if there weren't more to the story."_

_Anne sighed sharply at his tone. "He basically said that it won't work, like it was some stupid little idea we shouldn't even consider. That it's all about who you know, and there are a million other people in the city trying to make it big, too." Anne continued, not wanting to say the rest, but not being able to stop herself either. Walter had planted the tiny fear in her. "He said that you would have to use my connections to get anywhere…"_

"_And you think he's right," Derick said, his voice hard. He looked disgusted. The red light from the stoplight shone on both their faces._

"_Of course not," Anne snapped. "It's just that—"_

"_No, I can see that you do," Derick interrupted, speaking over her._

"_I said that I don't think that! But, it's not like he doesn't know the business," Anne said, her voice rising in response. They were approaching very close to a fight. She held her breath for a moment, calming herself. _

"_I'm scared, Derick," she said, her voice quiet again, honest. "There's no guarantee about what kind of money I'll make performing, and I don't want to see you working in a job that you hate so that we can pay the bills, while the big break never comes. I don't want that for us, and Walter just made everything seem so __**impossible**__." _

_They were still waiting at the red light, and Derick was looking at her intently, part of his face in shadow. He no longer looked angry, just determined. His jaw was set._

"_I can't promise that everything will work out. Nobody can. It will be really hard for a while, probably. But I know that I want you with me, whatever the circumstances. You just have to have faith, Anne. Everything will be okay."_

_The light turned green and he pulled into the intersection as a car from the opposite direction ran the red light. The lights lit up the interior of the car like the sun, and she had time to see the shock expand across Derick's face, and then with an impossibly loud noise, the oncoming car rammed into the back seat of the driver's side._

_It happened so fast, so impossibly fast. One moment, they were driving, the next they were spinning, sliding on the wet pavement. They careened to a stop as bits of glass from the broken back windows flew onto their laps and hair. Through her arm, all the way up to her shoulder, Anne felt pain ram through her. For a moment, her whole field of vision went red. It was agonizing; she felt it in her teeth._

_Then everything was still and everything was silent except for their breathing and the song still playing innocently on the radio as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Then Derick turned the engine off and the song cut out._

_He was breathing heavily, muttering 'are you all right?' incoherently with every breath. She could see that his eyes were childishly wide. Everything was moving at hyper-speed, and she was stuck in slow-motion._

_Derick was becoming more and more hysterical, and Anne wanted to reassure him but she felt so disoriented. Even blinking every few seconds was an effort. She finally tried to take stock of herself, looking down. Her legs were fine, and her back and neck, everything felt okay. Except her arm. She moved it and nearly blacked out. She felt a supernova of pain anytime she tried to even lift a finger._

_She turned her head and looked at Derick. He was unbuckling, violently pushing aside his air bag and trying to turn to her to see for himself if anything was wrong._

"_My arm," Anne gasped, and Derick looked down at it with wide eyes. Quietly, Anne began to cry for reasons quite apart from the physical pain, and a look of horror dawned across his face as he realized the full meaning of what she was saying. "I think it's broken."_


	6. And Nothing Is Ever As You Want To Be

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 6: And Nothing is Ever as You Want to Be

* * *

In a very ordinary world  
A most extraordinary pain mingles with the small routines,  
The loss seems huge and yet  
Nothing can be pinned down or fully explained. - Patten

_

* * *

As though trying to make her injury as visible as possible, Anne's cast was the brightest of neon greens. Dr. Russel was staring at it in abject horror. The older woman looked on speechlessly as the door quietly swung shut behind Anne. She had tried to gather some courage for this meeting, but she felt herself shrinking beneath her adviser's gaze. There was going to be no getting around the topic of her injury; that was for certain._

"_What in god's name is __**that**__?" Dr. Russel asked, the pen in her hand held forgotten in mid-air as she sat by the piano with an open day planner on her lap._

"_My arm is broken. I have to wear this cast for the next six weeks," Anne said quietly, miserably. She couldn't see any point in avoiding the horrible facts. She'd decided it would be simplest to say everything at once, instead of drawing it out._

"_Oh my god," Dr. Russel said, as though she had just heard the news of an unexpected death. In a way, it was appropriate. Anne had never seen such unguarded responses from her adviser. "How did this happen?"_

_Anne sighed, fidgeting. Her right arm felt so clumsy and she didn't know how to hold it anymore. "It was a car accident. We were coming from dinner. Derick was driving and—" _

_Anne saw the look that passed over Dr. Russel's face. It was just a flash, a tiny expression that said she had expected his involvement somehow. "And another car ran the light and slammed into us. It wasn't Derick's fault," Anne said heatedly, for Dr. Russel looked as though she believed everything was his fault. "There was nothing he could have done."_

_Dr. Russel arched one eyebrow sardonically, but said nothing more about Derick. "This is terrible news; it changes everything. It's unbelievably bad timing. We'll have to cancel your audition with Shauna Wright. She won't wait six weeks for you. No one will. Six weeks! Might as well be a death sentence." _

_Dr. Russel sighed terribly. "When that cast comes off, I'll try to get you a spot playing for the dance practices at Julliard until something else comes up. Maybe by then they'll be looking for a player at La Mer—that would open up opportunities. All the big producers eat there. I'll talk with the manager."_

_Anne's adviser had quickly fallen into her businesslike planning mode. She had her planner open and was quickly thumbing through its pages. She looked determined; the situation was bad, but they would persevere. _

_Anne was breathing shallowly in nervousness, trying to screw up her courage to say what she had to say. She'd never told Dr. Russel that she planned to move away with Derick. She knew the woman would be wholeheartedly against it. Her mouth pinched together into a thin little line anytime Anne so much as mentioned Derick; she was absolutely not going to be understanding when Anne said that she was going to move with him and leave everything behind in New York. _

_In the last weeks, Anne had never found an appropriate moment to start the conversation. She had been too afraid. She knew that this moment was her opportunity. Dr. Russel turned to glance at her, looking up from her calendar. _

"_Sit down, dear. We have to sort this all out."_

_Feeling reckless, Anne closed her eyes and said it all in a rush. "I appreciate everything you're trying to do for me—everything you have done, but I'm not staying in New York. I'm moving to California. With Derick."_

_She opened her eyes. It was done; she had said it. She felt giddy, but she couldn't take it back. Now she only had to wait for the explosion._

_It didn't come. "I see," Dr. Russel said after a few moments of silence. She lowered her raised eyebrows and leaned back casually into her chair, idly flipping her planner closed. Anne was reassured by her adviser's calm demeanor, and she was able to take a few calming breaths. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all._

"_So you have some prospects lined up in California? People who're willing to wait for your arm to heal and for you to get your dexterity back?"_

_Anne sagged, the air rushing out of her. "No, but—"_

"_Oh, so Derick has a job then?" Dr. Russel quickly continued over Anne. She said it without malice, only curiosity in her voice, but the questions were well aimed shots, cutting through Anne, knocking into all of her vulnerable places. She had no response, no defense._

_At Anne's continued silence, Dr. Russel nodded knowingly. "I see," she said again. She spoke very clearly and slowly, making every word seem important. "I can't help but think that it seems rather foolish to give up what I'm sure will be your distinguished career here to be a nameless waitress living with another nameless waiter in Los Angeles." Anne opened her mouth, but Dr. Russel held up her hand and continued._

"_Your arm is a setback, that's for sure, but here, at least, I still have some weight to throw around. As soon as you're out of that cast, I can get you a job in this city that will then lead to any musical career you want. I can't help you in California. What use will these years of study with me have been to you then? That boy has nothing…" Dr. Russel broke off with a sharp intake of air, looking to the side. It seemed that she hadn't wanted to mention Derick._

_Anne chewed at the corner of her mouth, her eyebrows drawn down, but she said nothing. _

_Dr. Russel was looking up at Anne with a kindly expression and her voice was softer, entreating. "I'm not your mother, Anne, but I do want what's best for you. Clearly, this boy is not good for you." She pointed carelessly to Anne's arm. "You might think he's a great actor, and maybe he is, but it's not that simple. It never is. And to give up everything you'll have here for uncertainty and struggle… I know you'll make the right choice."_

_She flipped open her planner again and indicated a chair for Anne to sit down in._

_Anne bounced her knees rapidly in agitation, trying hard not to cry. Neatly and effortlessly, Dr. Russel had hit every point of fear that Anne had toward the situation. She'd sketched a picture that matched perfectly with Walter's view and with Anne's own worried thoughts. It had been like the crack of a gavel giving out a final judgment. Suddenly, Anne knew that she wouldn't go against them._

_She felt a gush of mutinous feelings rise in her at the thought of Derick and his boundless optimism and for her own love and idealism. But the idealism had been stunted, ruined by opposition and fear. She was exhausted, defeated. It was too hard to go against them all. She was tired and she couldn't fight anymore._

_They were right: Dr. Russel, her father, her own endless train of uncertain thoughts… They were right, and she wasn't going to move to Los Angeles._

_She let out a small sob, but she took the seat that was offered and made an effort to control herself. In another moment she leaned forward to look at the dates on the calendar._

_

* * *

Anne had walked from the living room of her tiny, student apartment to get a glass of water. She could still hear the tinny voices coming from the television and Derick's occasional laughter from the other room. She stared down at the glass in her right hand as though it were a stranger's. She still didn't know how everything had changed so quickly, how all of her plans had come to ruin._

_She had stalled and she had debated, but it was no use. There was only one option open to her now. It had been stupidly idealistic and naïve to assume that they could go off and live their dreams and that everything would fall into their laps. Graduation was mere days away; they'd be moving in a matter of weeks and she knew that Derick hadn't even thought about looking for an apartment yet. Neither of them had jobs or prospects. She'd blissfully ignored all the inconvenient practicalities of their situation because if she were with the man she loved, what did it matter?_

_Anne still felt that way; she couldn't resist Derick's hopefulness. But there were harsh realities which her father and adviser had made abundantly clear. _

_The worst was that Anne knew she was holding Derick back, just as he was holding her back. She had tried to avoid seeing that simple fact, but it was the truth. Her playing suffered because of him. She never practiced. She had no focus. And she couldn't list the number of times he had skipped a rehearsal to be with her, his motivation to work cut. Nothing would change when they moved to L.A. In the beginning, it just wouldn't be possible to start a career and maintain the intensity of their relationship. Both would suffer for it. She __**would**__ hold him back professionally. There was no doubt of that._

_As an artist herself and as someone who loved him deeply, she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't bear the thought of watching him go to a menial job he despised, day after day, never getting his break, knowing that she was part of the reason why. They couldn't both have everything they wanted and each other, too. _

_She had thought it would be impossible to give him up. Facing that inevitable ending now, she realized that she had underestimated the difficulty. She had never had to make this kind of decision before. She had never had to choose what was right over what she wanted. It helped to have a concrete reason, apart from the opinions of her father and her adviser. She had to give him up for his own good. For her own good._

_But why did it have to be so hard?_

_Anne picked up the water glass again, but this time it slipped from her weak and shaky right hand, breaking into a thousand shards on the hard kitchen tiles. She muttered a curse word, reaching for a towel and then a broom. It was somehow appropriate; everything in her life was falling apart._

_She heard quick footsteps approaching from the other room and Derick entered the kitchen, curiosity on his face. His hair was sticking up from where it had been resting against the back of the couch._

"_Everything okay?" he asked, but Anne continued to look down, continued to sweep up the glass, dreading what she was about to do. All day she had thought about what she was going to say and when. She realized she was never going to be fully prepared. The longer she thought about what she had to do, the worse she felt._

"_Anne," he said after she said nothing. She finally stopped sweeping and looked at him, putting her weight down hard on the broom, gripping it tightly with her uninjured hand. She was about to fly over the brink. _

"_I can't move with you," she said. Her voice was strangled, her throat closed off the words._

_He looked at her like she'd just made a distasteful joke. "What are you talking about?"_

"_I can't go to Los Angeles with you," she said just as quietly as the first time._

_Derick looked at her for a full 30 seconds in silence, his face an unreadable mask, while Anne stood in misery, unable to look at him any longer. All the color had drained from his face. She didn't know what she had expected. She'd known it wouldn't be easy to tell him, but this was __**awful**__._

"_**Say**__ something," she finally blurted, when the moment had dragged on and she could no longer bear the silence._

"_What do you want me to say, Anne?" he asked harshly, color bursting into his face again. "Is this about your arm because—"_

"_**No**__, of course not," Anne interrupted, just as terse as Derick. "That was an accident. You know I don't… This doesn't have anything to—"_

_He spoke cleanly over her. "What then? Out of nowhere you say you don't want to be with me; what am I supposed to think?"_

_His eyes were filled with hurt and anger, and despite spending hours imagining and planning this conversation, Anne couldn't think of anything now that sounded adequate. For a few dreadful seconds, she was silent._

"_I do want to be with you; you have to know that. I—I just…" She lifted her arm in its cast. "Where am I going to get a job? I can't play. I can't even waitress. I'm __**not**__ asking Walter for help. How are we going to pay for an apartment? What if you can't find work either? Neither of us knows anyone in L.A. It's totally crazy to rush out there without any kind of plan. And here, I already have opportunities lined up for me. Why can't we try long distance for a while…" she trailed off. Derick was shaking his head._

"_No. I don't want that. You wouldn't want it either if you knew what it was like. Just move with me; there are going to be opportunities for you. For both of us."_

"_Dr. Russel says…" Anne stopped because with a violent exhalation of air, Derick had stalked from the room. She stood stock-still in the kitchen, but he reappeared a moment later looking angrier than ever._

"_God damn it, Anne," he swore. "Is that what this is about? She's not in charge of your life: __**you**__ are. You can't let her make decisions for you. Why does she have this hold over you?"_

"_She __**doesn't**__," Anne said defensively, her voice rising. Derick had backed her into a corner. "But Walter said the same things, and they both know what it's like. They __**know**__, and we're just rushing in blindly."_

"_I don't care what they think. I don't care." He said the words like he was shoving them back at Dr. Russel's face. He looked at Anne intently. "I know that everything will work out. We'll make it work. Don't you believe in me?"_

_It was such a vulnerable question. Anne wanted nothing more than to look up into his eyes and say yes. To go with him, to sweep away all the pragmatic doubts and the logic that said it would never work, to drop all of the words from her father and Dr. Russel and step forward to tell him she loved him and let that be enough. _

_But she couldn't._

_She saw his eyes widen as the silence went on, saying everything about the situation more eloquently than she could have. She saw the pain that flitted across his features as she took too long to respond. _

_She remembered all the moments where he had encouraged her schemes and ideas without question, his instantaneous responses of 'you'll make it; I believe in you'. He had supported her without question and without censure, always. And now, in the only moment that mattered, she couldn't do the same for him. It was a betrayal._

_Anne swallowed hard, trying to come up with a response. She knew that they had crossed a line, and she couldn't go back or do it over. "Derick, I—"_

_But his expression had hardened and he was backing away from her, his jaw clenched. She knew he wouldn't listen to anything else she had to say._

"_Wait," she said with desperation in her voice. "Hold on. Let's just…" She reached for him, but he stopped her hands, not roughly, but firmly, and he moved away from her._

"_No, I get it. You don't have to say anything else. I get it." He paused for a moment, a strange expression on his face, and then he walked into the living room, reappearing moments later with his coat and his keys. "You'll stay here, and I'll move to L.A." He shrugged, in a poor attempt to show that he was taking it lightly. He didn't say it, but she heard the rest anyway: The End._

_Panic shot through Anne with a jolt. She hadn't thought farther than saying she couldn't go with him. She'd gone into the conversation with dreams of a long-distance relationship and the magical thought that maybe everything would work out despite it all. She hadn't thought he would leave __**now**__. Like this, and so obviously hurt. She wasn't ready; she hadn't wanted this. _

"_**No**__. Wait, please. Please stop." Her voice was wobbling with emotion. "Derick, please."_

_He shook his head lightly and continued to the door as though she weren't begging him not to. _

"_I don't think there's anything left to say. You made yourself clear." He spoke lower than usual, hiding the emotion in his voice, and he wouldn't look at her._

_He paused for a moment, his hand on the door handle, and then he was gone without a look back, and Anne was left staring in disbelief, the TV playing lightly in the background as though nothing much had happened._

_

* * *

Anne hadn't regretted everything immediately. The part that hadn't blocked his path to the door, the part that hadn't chased after him still felt right about not following him to L.A. She heard the voice of her father and Dr. Russel and felt supported._

_But when she opened her apartment door the next morning to see a cardboard box filled with all the things she had left at his apartment over the past months, Anne found it difficult to keep from bursting into tears. The only thing the accompanying note said was that he didn't care what she did with the things he had left in her apartment. She could keep them or throw them out at her discretion._

_She wasn't going to be that kind of girlfriend, she decided. Instead, she piled his things neatly into their own box and promptly brought it over to his apartment. She would force him to have a conversation with her; they would talk until they sorted everything out and she stopped feeling like someone had run a machete through her._

_Of course he wasn't home. She pounded until the side of her fist felt numb, but there was no response. Ear pressed to the door, Anne couldn't decide if the noises she heard were coming from his apartment or the one next door. If Derick was home, it was obvious that he didn't want to see her. She left the box on the floor mat, and her note said 'Please call me'._

_Little by little, her reasoning for staying in New York started to make less sense as the overwhelming longing for him took over her. She had hoped that he would call her, but he hadn't. She dreamed of calling him relentlessly until he finally answered her, but instead she gave him the space he seemed to want. Each day that passed was worse. Her anxiety and her desperation grew. She hadn't seen him, and she lived with the almost constant ache for him._

_When she finally broke, she called him and left a message. She redid the message over and over, wanting it to be perfect, something that would compel him to call her back. She just wanted to hear his voice, to talk, to explain that this wasn't what she had wanted to happen to them. _

_She never forgave herself for missing his call, and for a year she saved the message he left on her cell phone, even though it was total agony to hear that voice saying that he was glad she hadn't picked up because he hadn't wanted to hear her voice, to hear __**him**__ saying that he wanted this to be the last communication that they ever had._

_She knew then that he would never forgive her. He didn't understand why she had made the choice she had. And she knew that he would be the biggest regret of her life._

* * *

Anne slipped out of the side door that led backstage, and the noise from the crowd in the auditorium was instantly silenced. She tucked her music folder tighter under her arm and nodded to a crew member as she headed to get her coat and purse from one of the back rooms.

She was singing with energy; she hadn't felt so electrified after a performance in years. She looked around at her surroundings with wide eyes, feeling alert and alive. Her whole frame felt like it was buzzing.

Derick's performance had been outstanding. Something about having the large audience had brought out more from both of the actors, so that even Anne, who'd seen the play night after night in practice, had felt moved and inspired by their words.

In response, she played as she rarely played, giving everything to the performance. She felt so proud to be a part of something that was so beautiful. She nearly cried as the audience gave them a standing ovation. It felt like a never ending wave of applause and cheering. Now, even as she was leaving, she was flushed with adrenaline.

Almost on her tip-toes, she walked quickly past Derick's dressing room, as the door was half open, and she slid into the room that held her things. Across the hall, Lauren's dressing room door was wide open, and Ben stood perched in the doorway, talking with his starlet. Anne slipped her coat on over her black dress and stepped into the hallway, ready to walk to the exit. Ben stopped her before she could take two steps.

"Anne, you were wonderful." Ben's eyes were wide, like he was still recovering from a shock. She'd never seen him look so happy. "The play has never gotten a response like that. I've never seen Derick act the part with so much depth." He clasped her arm affectionately. "I'm beginning to feel like you're a good luck charm."

Anne laughed in surprise. "Me? A luck charm?" The irony of the statement was darkly amusing to her.

Lauren emerged from within her dressing room, her hair freshly styled. She seemed curious about who Ben had been talking to. She'd changed into her customary designer outfit and heels, and she smiled at Anne. "Awesome job tonight."

Anne graciously returned the compliment, but Lauren waved her off. "We all know Derick stole the show, just like he always does." She smiled a dimply smile at Ben and then turned to Anne again as though struck by an idea. "Hey, a bunch of us are going out to celebrate. It's at some new bar—the cast party, I mean. Come; you can sit with me and Ben!"

Anne was completely taken aback. She didn't really have any girl-friends, and she wasn't used to Lauren's easy style of friendship. She hardly ever went out, except to lunch with her father or Mary. But for some reason, maybe it was just the particular night, she found herself glowing with happiness at the thought of being included in something. She fumbled with words, unsure of what to say.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude…"

"Don't be silly," Lauren said, laughing. "I just invited you. And you're part of the cast; you're not intruding."

Anne hedged further, looking from Lauren's outfit to her own simple black dress. "I don't think I'm really dressed appropriately." Suddenly, it seemed easier for Anne to just go home like she'd planned.

Thoughtfully bouncing her finger on her cheek, Lauren eyed Anne critically for a moment and then snapped a brightly colored belt off of the wall. "Hmm. Just take your hair down and put this on; the look is really in style. I just did a whole photo-shoot with belts like these. You won't look too formal now." She gave Ben a flirty look over her shoulder. "Never underestimate the power of a great accessory."

Ben merely arched an eye-brow, looking deeply unimpressed by Lauren's advice.

Anne eyed herself in the mirror. The belt had done the trick. She looked slender and stylish: just right for a casual night out.

The magic of the night seemed to be rubbing off on her. With her hair down, her face looked softer and younger. Her customary dark circles were nowhere to be seen. Instead, her eyes were bouncing with lights, and her cheeks were still rosy from the performance. She was running out of excuses.

"I don't really know the rest of the crew. You're sure I won't be a third wheel?" she finally said, but it didn't matter. She'd already decided to go out and have fun, for once.

"No, of course not," Lauren responded brightly. "There'll be four of us. Derick is coming, too."


	7. Where Does The Good Go

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 7: Where Does The Good Go

* * *

Look me in the heart and unbreak broken. - Tegan & Sara

* * *

It was such a small thing, but Anne was inordinately pleased as the bouncer at the door to the bar asked to see her I.D. It had been so long since someone had asked her that; it had been so long since she'd went out, period. She dug through her purse for her wallet, trying not to grin. He lifted an eyebrow once he saw her birth date and then handed back her license.

"You looked young," he said gruffly, and Anne felt some of her nervousness melt away as a smile rounded her cheeks. She nodded cordially to the bouncer before stepping inside after Lauren and Ben. She was a jumble of nerves and anticipation. The three of them had left without saying anything to Derick, whose door had been closed, so he was unaware that Anne was coming.

Lauren had been busy texting someone on her phone as she drove them downtown, which was a frightening experience, and Anne had automatically assumed the recipient of all the messages was Derick. She hoped Lauren had told him she was coming; perhaps then he would make up some excuse and back out of the after-party. Anne wasn't sure which scenario she liked better: seeing him again or avoiding him altogether.

The inside of the bar was elegant, with modern furniture in interesting shapes and a hip band playing far across the expanse of the room. They had walked past the line of people waiting outside, trailed by whispers and excited murmurs, and had moved right to the front using Lauren's fame. Anne was almost giddy. She felt a kind of warm contentedness settle through her. She couldn't explain it, but the night had a special feel to it. She wondered if this was what her father and Elizabeth felt like all the time, if this was what her own mother had felt like as a young, famous singer in L.A. As they stepped inside, she recognized several other crew members in the vicinity as they waved. They walked over to say hello and began making small talk with Lauren and Ben. Anne wasn't exactly included, but she didn't mind; she was busy taking in all the activity around her.

As Anne looked around the surroundings with an easy smile on her face, she made accidental eye contact with one of the bartenders. It was clear that he had been looking at her, but he didn't look away upon getting caught, as people normally did. As a side thought, she realized that he was attractive, wearing a crisp white shirt and a black vest. Eyes still on hers, his lips curled up in a one-sided smile, and Anne finally looked away, feeling flustered. She didn't know why he had been ogling her.

Her outfit wasn't out of place, so that couldn't be what was attracting his attention. Lauren had been right about the belt, and Anne fit right in with the rest of the people in the bar. And after all, Lauren was the famous actress; he should have been looking at _her_, not Anne. She shook her head, putting the bartender to the back of her mind.

A hostess guided them forward to the section of the bar that was reserved for their party, and Lauren chose a booth for them. Anne assumed that Lauren would want to sit next to Derick, so she took the seat next to Ben. Anne was still half hoping that Derick would back out of the evening, but even if he didn't, she didn't think he could totally dampen her mood. It would all depend on how much attention he gave to Lauren.

Lauren passed over a drink menu to Anne before excitedly scanning through the list herself. There were long lists of mixed drinks, cosmopolitans, and martinis, all with the most expensive, top shelf liquors, all listed without prices. Anne raised an eyebrow, deciding that she would only buy one drink.

Lauren suddenly squealed in excitement. "Oh! They have the sour apple-tini. It's my favorite drink! Have you had one, Anne? They're to _die_ for."

Anne shook her head, inwardly laughing at the younger girl's enthusiasm for the drink. "I've never had a flavored martini," Anne said. "I guess I don't drink that often. I usually just have wine when I go out." She flipped through the pages absently, looking for the wine list.

Lauren was looking at her, completely agog. "But that's so _boring_. You can't order wine here. You've got to try the apple-tini. Trust me. You'll absolutely love it."

Having no opinion one way or the other, Lauren's pressure was enough to change Anne's mind, and she shrugged lightly. "Okay, I'll try one."

Lauren clapped her hands together excitedly and smiled her brightest, most dimpled smile. She raised her hand and signaled over a waitress.

"Two sour apple-tinis," she said promptly, after Ben had ordered a scotch. As the waitress began to walk away, Lauren snapped her fingers. "Oh wait. We should get something for Derick. He'll be here in a minute, I'm sure. What does he like to drink?" She looked at Ben expectantly, like he should know the answer, but he only shrugged.

"Hell if I know."

Lauren gave a little huff and picked up the drink menu again, looking at it in confusion. One thing was for sure; Derick would clearly not be interested in an apple-tini. Her forehead wrinkled, and she appeared to be deep in thought.

Anne noticed the exasperation that flew across the waitress's face. The bar was busy and they were making a waste of her time. Anne felt compelled to speak, when otherwise she wouldn't have. After a moment, she smiled up at the waitress.

"A gin and tonic," Anne said quickly. Lauren looked up from the menu, her mouth a little O of surprise.

"Tanqueray?" the waitress asked, already stepping away, expecting a yes.

"No—umm, Magellan," Anne corrected, and the waitress nodded before hurrying off. Eight years was a long time, but not long enough to forget how much Derick hated Tanqueray. It was one of his small quirks.

Ben and Lauren's faces had identical quizzical expressions. She watched as Ben seemed to take the event in stride, his face clearing as though he'd received a piece to a puzzle he'd been missing. But Lauren continued to stare, eyebrows drawn down, head tilted slightly to the side. She blinked several times and was opening her mouth to ask a question that Anne was sure she didn't want to answer when Ben interrupted.

"Here comes Derick."

Anne hadn't expected to feel grateful at his arrival, but he offered the necessary distraction. Lauren forgot all about whatever she had been about to ask as they all watched Derick stop and talk to several crew members on his way in. The lights played across his face as he walked toward them, and in his dark jacket he looked every bit the handsome actor that he was.

Anne couldn't help feeling that she was embarking on some bizarre double date as Derick slid onto the leather seat of their booth across from her and next to Lauren.

He greeted them all, but his eyes almost immediately slid back to Anne, and he looked her over with a strange expression on his face that Anne couldn't read. Lauren obviously hadn't told him anything about inviting her, and she supposed he was wondering why she was there. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Maybe it wasn't such a wonderful night, after all.

"Took you long enough," Lauren teased, and Derick rolled his eyes, his attention turning from Anne.

"Traffic. And not everyone drives like a lunatic," was his spirited reply.

"I am a wonderful driver," Lauren exclaimed. "Aren't I?" she asked, looking across the table to her companions.

Anne respectfully kept her mouth shut while Ben snorted.

"No comment on that one."

"Oy!" Lauren said with a look of outrage on her face, but the waitress had returned with their drinks. Anne looked down in consternation as a glowing green drink was placed in front of her. It was something she never would have ordered on her own. She took a dubious sip and it was as she had expected: sickly sweet-and-sour candy-apple flavor trying to mask the bite of the alcohol. She knew she wouldn't be able to finish it. She should have just had a glass of wine, after all.

Lauren was drinking hers with rapture. "Yum," she moaned, eyes closed. She looked sideways at Derick, who was sliding out of his jacket. He hadn't touched the drink in front of him.

"We ordered that for you. It's a gin and tonic."

"Oh," he said, looking surprised and pleased. "Thank you. Not Tanqueray, I hope." He lifted the glass to take a sip.

"No." Lauren snapped her fingers rapidly. "What kind of gin was it, Anne?"

Inwardly, Anne flinched, but she kept her expression neutral. "Magellan," she said quietly, hoping that no one would ask her to say more. Still, it was enough to show Derick that she was the one who had ordered his drink.

She saw the almost unnoticeable pause between when Derick raised the glass and when he took a drink. She could feel his eyes on her, but stared at his hand on the glass instead. One of his knuckles was scraped; she focused intently on that. She waited to raise her eyes until she thought that he couldn't possibly still be looking at her.

Pulse racing, she finally allowed herself to look up. She hadn't waited long enough. Their eyes met, and it was the same look he had given her when he arrived. She didn't understand. What was he thinking? For once he didn't look away, and Anne was the one who turned her head. She had to; her heart was suddenly trying to pummel through her chest.

But thankfully Lauren was telling a story loudly. She was already almost done with her drink.

"And I said, 'Are you freaking kidding me? No. Absolutely no way. I said _no vampire movies_, and I meant _no vampire movies_'. You should have seen his face. I thought his head was going to explode."

Derick was suddenly smiling his full smile. "See, that's what I like about you, Lauren. That stubbornness. You don't let people tell you what to do, even when it's their job."

Lauren's first response was to glance at Ben with a look that clearly said, 'hear that?'. She looked overwhelmingly pleased with herself. "How could I let people do that?" She sat up straighter and put her hand on her chest, eyes closed. "I'm an _artist_. I don't need somebody to tell me what to do; I just need freedom to express myself." She opened her eyes and downed the rest of her drink.

Suddenly, Anne just wanted to go home. She had to try hard to keep her expression from turning sour. The magic of the evening had quickly evaporated. First, the looks Derick had been giving her were throwing her completely off balance, and now Lauren was waxing philosophical on the art of acting.

She didn't think he had meant his comment as a barb, but nonetheless, she would have needed ten more drinks to be able to handle listening to such a conversation. Lauren fulfilled every stereotyped idea that Anne had ever had about actors.

But it was Derick's reaction that really puzzled her. She had expected him to look as pleased with himself as Lauren did, but even though he had initiated the conversation, he looked as though he thought her response had been as clichéd and meaningless as Anne had. She saw it in the scornful turn of his mouth. She took a sip of her drink, baffled over everything, and turned to Ben for an easy distraction.

"I've been meaning to ask you about the composer of the score for the play. Rebecca Harville. I've never heard of her, but she's phenomenal. Has she written any other pieces for you?"

Ben's shoulders tightened, and Anne didn't understand this mood shift until he spoke.

"No. Just that one," he said reluctantly. "She was a close friend of mine—she died recently."

Anne felt a horrible sinking feeling. She wished desperately that she hadn't brought up the subject, but she'd had no way of knowing.

"How terrible. I'm so sorry," she said quietly. Ben nodded, and for a moment their side of the table was silent while Derick and Lauren talked animatedly. It was like Anne had thrown a bucket of ice over them both.

"It's been hard. I think about her all the time; I miss her all the time," he said bleakly a moment later, staring into his glass. "It was good to do these extra performances I think; it gave me something else to think about, made me stop wallowing in my misery." He shot Anne a look. "She performed the piece herself, you know. That's why we had to find someone else at the last minute. She had this way of playing… The music is beautiful, but the way she played it was something else. No one else has ever come close to matching her. Except you; you played it just right. She would have been happy." He gave her a brief, one sided smile that left his face almost immediately afterward, and Anne gave him back a wobbly one of her own.

He moved the condensation on the table with his glass and then seemed to rally himself. He looked at her almost sheepishly. "I have to admit that I've been wondering what you're doing teaching. A musician of your caliber shouldn't be stuck in some school. Do you love it or something?"

Anne laughed in surprise, taken aback. "No," she said baldly. "No, I don't. I'm a terrible teacher, actually. I think my students would rather pull their nails out than come to my class."

It was Ben's turn to laugh. "So what are you doing at a university? You should be _performing_. Composing."

Anne pursed her lips lightly, wanting to nod in agreement. They were quickly approaching a subject that Anne almost always avoided. "It's a long story," she said, sighing, hoping that would end the matter.

Ben gave her an amused look. "I'm pretty sure alcohol and bars were made for long stories."

Anne smiled despite herself. "Fair enough." Ben had been open enough to tell her his story; she figured she had to return the favor. He didn't seem to be the type of person who shared his feelings often, and she didn't want to make him feel slighted.

She took a deep breath and silently prayed that Derick would stay absorbed in his conversation with Lauren. The other two hadn't been paying the slightest attention to her conversation with Ben thus far. Her mouth twitched into a nervous smile. She hadn't spoken of the past in so long; it was strange to be doing it now. She spoke, looking down at her glass.

"I always planned to be a performer. It was what I was going to do, no matter what. I remember being a kid and telling my mom my plans, and she just said, "Yes. Of course", like it was the simplest matter in the world." Anne shook her head lightly, smiling at the memory. "There weren't ever any other options for me. I wanted to tour with a famous orchestra. I wanted to compose masterpieces. And I went to a prestigious school and trained with the best teachers. I did everything that you were supposed to do. I did everything right. I even had an audition to be the accompanist for a virtuoso performer." Anne had been speaking quietly, and she paused to take a sip of her drink while Ben waited, listening.

"And then I broke my arm in a car accident a few days before graduation." She saw the understanding and pity flash across Ben's face.

"I suppose the injury, in itself, wasn't the end. I could have recovered; I _did_ recover, but after the accident everything just unraveled. Everything in my life fell apart. I made choices that I thought were right at the time, but if I could do it again…" She ended in a shrug. "There were too many things that went wrong, and afterward I couldn't bear the thought of doing what I had planned any longer. I didn't want anything to do with the life that I had ruined, with performing, so I picked the farthest thing away from it that I could. You know what they say, those who can't—teach."

Ben nodded. "Did it make you feel better?"

Anne laughed. It was a very bitter sound. "No."

"Kind of a waste, huh?" she said, feeling sad for herself, but then she shrugged. "I finally started composing again a few years ago."

Ben leaned forward intently at that sentence. "I'd love to hear some of your work." Behind his glasses, his eyes were wide with excitement.

Anne blinked away her surprise. "Really?" she asked incredulously. She had long lost hope of ever having her music performed.

"I'm directing another play in six months. We haven't picked the music yet. Send me your stuff. Anything that you have. I bet we'll be able to work something out. Maybe we'll use what you have, or maybe I'll commission you to write something else. With the way you play, I'd be crazy not to." He fished around in several of his pockets before producing a slightly bent business card for her.

Anne was still staring, mouth open, but she took the card with her fingertips. It was the kind of exchange that she had dreamed about for years, and it was reality. Apparently her story had struck some kind of chord with him. He was going to use her music; she couldn't process it. Ben gave her an encouraging smile and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, reassuringly.

Lauren cleared her throat loudly, and Anne's attention snapped away from Ben. To her horror, both Lauren and Derick were watching her closely. She had no idea how long they had been listening or how much _he_ had heard. Her heart was beating somewhere in her throat and she felt a strange, heightened sense of reality knowing that Derick might have been listening in on the conversation. She wondered, dimly, if he even cared what her life had been like after their break-up, but she was too afraid to make eye contact with him.

She was taken aback by the hostile expression on Lauren's face, but in the next moment, Lauren had turned away to hail the waitress to order a third drink. Everyone else still had nearly full glasses. As the waitress walked away, Anne wished that she had thought to order a water, just to get the taste from her mouth.

She sneaked a glance at Derick and found that his eyes were on her again, though he quickly looked away this time, almost guiltily. More than anything, she wanted to know what he was thinking. He was oddly quiet. Lauren was trying to engage him in their usual flirty banter, but something was off. His mood had noticeably shifted.

The waitress returned moments later with two drinks. She put one down in front of Lauren and then looked to Anne. "Are you Anne Elliot?" she asked.

Anne nodded, too surprised to say anything else. The waitress placed the second drink down in front of her.

"I didn't order this," Anne said in confusion, and to her surprise, the waitress grinned.

"I know. It's from the bartender. He asked around to all the other crew members for your name and told me to bring this to you. He said to tell you that you were the prettiest woman to walk in here tonight." She gave Anne a gleeful smile.

Anne gaped at the woman for a few moments before letting out a nervous laugh. However, it didn't appear to be a joke; no one else joined in. She swallowed back anything she had been about to say, and almost against her will, she scanned the bar. When the bartender saw her looking, he grinned and gave her a small nod.

Anne turned quickly back to her drink, feeling completely out of her element. What was the proper response? She hadn't been hit on in years.

Ben was laughing good-naturedly. "Anne, what did you do to the poor guy?"

"I have no idea," Anne said, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention. Lauren was rolling her eyes, taking large gulps from her fresh drink. Derick was turned almost fully in the booth, his neck craned to look at the bartender in question. He only turned back around once Lauren touched his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Huh?" Derick's eyebrows were drawn down into a frown, and he looked at Lauren as though he hadn't heard a word she'd said. After she repeated her question he replied, "Nothing," in a mumble, but a moment later his eyes had drifted over to Anne's face again.

She didn't notice; she was back in conversation with Ben. Her eyes were bright, even in the dim light. When she smiled, her cheeks flushed, and the way her dark hair framed her face was very flattering. The excitement of the performance and the evening out had breathed life into Anne, and she looked like the young woman she actually was, instead of someone tired and beaten down by life.

In the back of her mind, Anne noticed the increasing number of drinks Lauren consumed. She drank them down like water as Ben talked to Anne about his work. It was the only subject that really seemed to engage him. He spoke passionately, touching her hand on the table occasionally for emphasis.

A permanent scowl began to mar Lauren's features, and she listened to their conversation with darkly narrowed eyes. It finally dawned on Anne that Derick had been listening to Ben speak too, and that Lauren was being ignored by everyone. Probably for the first time in her entire life. Wanting to avoid any incoming trouble, she feigned a huge yawn.

"I'm getting pretty tired…" she began, and almost immediately, their bill was paid and they were stepping out into the night, away from the crowd and the bar.

"Where did you park?" Derick asked Lauren, and she furrowed her eyebrows.

"Why?" she asked antagonistically.

He gave her a patient look. "So you'll remember where it is when you pick it up in the morning. Is it at a meter?"

"What are you talking about? 'In the morning'," she scoffed. "I'm driving them home." She hooked her thumb backwards over her shoulder to indicate Ben and Anne.

"I don't think you should drive. You had a lot. I can take everyone."

Lauren looked outraged. "I'm fine," she said heatedly.

Derick sighed. "Don't do this. Just give me your keys—"

"Go to hell, Derick," she said, but the bite was taken away as she slurred her way through the sentence. She began to stalk away, presumably toward her car. The other three had no choice but to follow her.

Lauren was muttering angrily to herself, her heels clacking on the sidewalk as she walked. Anne sighed unhappily as they followed. It'd been some time since she'd had to deal with an angry, drunken, 22 year-old woman.

"You two can ride with him if you want, but I'm going home," Lauren said with determination as she struggled to open her car door.

Anne stood several yards away as Ben and Derick tried to persuade Lauren otherwise. Lauren's vehement no's were easy to hear in the quiet night, though the men's responses were only mumbles. Then, with an almighty push, Lauren shoved Ben into Derick, and while they untangled themselves, she used the opportunity to get into her car and lock the doors. They had no choice but to move out of the way as she turned on the car.

Anne hurried over to them as Lauren began to pull out of her space. "We can't let her drive."

Ben sighed in frustrated exasperation. "Well, just try telling that to Miss Belligerent."

Lauren managed to back the car out perfectly, and Anne had the hope that maybe she hadn't been as bad as she seemed, but as Lauren turned the corner of the parking lot she lost control of the car. They watched as, almost in slow motion, the car jumped the curb onto an island and ran head-on into a lamppost.

There was a tremendous scrunch and then silence except for the sound of the running engine.

All three stood frozen for a moment, varying looks of confusion and disbelief across their faces. Derick's mouth was hanging open, and Anne found herself with her hands on her cheeks as she shook her head.

Then Lauren violently threw open the door, managed to clumsily extract herself from the deployed air bag, and promptly vomited on the pavement. Anne made a move to rush over, but Ben got there first. Lauren had her hands on her head as she stumbled toward him.

"_Shit_. I've only got a minute before my next scene. I've got to hurry," she said urgently, but the words were slow and slurred. A trickle of blood began to roll down from her scalp.

"Lauren, the play is over," Ben said pragmatically. "Let me see that cut." The wound was very shallow, but because it was on her forehead, it was streaming blood.

"No, no it isn't," Lauren said, pushing away from him. "God, the lights are so bright right now. It's my cue. Where's the stage?"

They were in the middle of a parking lot, and the only light came dimly from the lamppost that she had run into. "Lauren…"

"I have to go on stage! I know my lines, see?" She began to sing loudly in a terrible cockney accent, proving that she was not speaking about this night's performance. "Just you wait, 'enry 'iggins, just you wait. You'll be sorry but your tears will be too _laaate_."

Mouths open, everyone stared at her. No one moved. Her singing cut through the silence of the night like a gunshot.

"You'll be broke and I'll have moneeeey. Will I help you? Don't be funnyyyy."

It was grotesque. Half of Lauren's face was smeared with blood, and she was singing like she belonged in an asylum.

"I didn't think she was _that_ drunk," Derick said.

Anne, her brows furrowed down in confusion, suddenly held up a hand. "No. Wait a second. I think—I think she has a concussion. She's disoriented. Does anyone have a light?"

They all searched their pockets, to no avail. Then Ben produced his cell phone, and even in its dim light they could see the unnatural dilation of one of her pupils.

"We have to take her to the hospital," Anne said firmly. "The air bag must have hit her pretty hard." She felt oddly clear headed. It was a bad situation, but they could take care of it. She knew what to do. Ben and Derick, on the other hand, looked as confused and disoriented as Lauren. She knew that she needed to get Derick moving, to get him doing something to help, otherwise he would begin to freak out.

"Derick, go get your car. You can drive us all to the hospital." Some distant part of her realized it was the first time she had said his name aloud in almost eight years, but she swept that to the side. He looked at her, eyes wide, and then seemed to shake himself. A few minutes later he hurried away to where he had parked.

Anne moved to inspect the damage from the crash. She found a towel among the clutter of the backseat and immediately gave it to Ben so that he could clean up Lauren's cut.

The light pole was, miraculously, undamaged. She thought there might be a scratch on it from Lauren's fender. Lauren's car, on the other hand, looked like it had hit a train. But the engine was still running.

Anne looked to Lauren, who was sitting on the curb next to Ben. He had his arm around her shoulders and was holding the towel to her head. She was still singing "Just you wait…" but with much less enthusiasm now.

Anne knew that the last thing Lauren needed was for the press to find out about the accident. They would have a heyday with the news. She eyed the running car thoughtfully.

"I'm going to try to move her car back to its spot. Stay with her," Anne told Ben. She didn't know what Lauren would tell her insurance company, but that was a problem for the morning. She got the car back into its spot with little difficulty. Anne got out of the car and locked the doors, feeling foolish afterward. She was amazed that the crash hadn't attracted more attention, but the only movement around them was Derick's lights as he pulled into the parking lot to take them to the hospital.

* * *

Derick held the door open for Anne as they exited the hospital. The cold air was refreshing and it helped clear her head of the hospital smell. It was nearly four in the morning and Anne was surprised she was still on her feet. Lauren was being kept overnight for observations, and Ben had wanted to stay with her. There wasn't anything else that Anne or Derick could do, so they had finally left, entrusting Ben to keep them updated.

Anne felt that everything was surreal as she followed Derick back to his car. The familiarity and comfort she was feeling made it seem like a dream. She had thought she was too tired, too exhausted by the events of the night to be nervous about the upcoming ride, but then she was actually in the front seat sitting next to him and it was an altogether different story.

He hadn't said anything on the walk to the car, and he hadn't turned on the radio once they had got inside. But sitting next to him in the dark interior was making her pulse thud in her veins. She couldn't count the number of times she had sat with him like this, although before there had never been the oppressive tension between them, the millions of things they couldn't say to each other.

She gave him her address and then closed her eyes, leaning her head against the seat. She felt the motion of the car as they glided along. They sat in silence for a few blocks.

He cleared his throat, and Anne slowly opened her eyes.

"Lauren isn't usually like that. She's a nice kid. I don't know what was going on tonight…"

Anne shrugged noncommittally. She could guess pretty well what Lauren's problem had been.

Derick sighed heavily and continued. "I can't help feeling responsible. I should have just taken her keys from her. It's her own fault though…being so stubborn. I can't say that I'm sad to have to go back to L.A. for some post-production on a film; she just got herself into a huge mess." He paused, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Anne was curious at this speech. She'd been surprised when Ben had stayed at the hospital and not Derick. She was surprised now to hear him say he was happy to get away from Lauren. He was going back to California, and Lauren was clearly staying in New York. Perhaps there was nothing to the rumors after all…

Anne was too tired to make sense of it, but something inside of her gushed with joy. It took her another moment of thought, but then the information really sunk in. He wasn't just leaving Lauren; Derick was leaving them _both_ behind, and soon by the sound of it. He was going to fly back out of her life as suddenly as he had entered it. She should have been happy at the thought, glad to have him go, but she wasn't. All she felt was disappointment. Add one more wasted opportunity to the list.

But Derick was speaking again, his voice warm.

"You were good back there. With Lauren and everything. Fast thinking. I wouldn't have known what to do. I'm glad you were with us." He glanced at her quickly before looking back at the deserted street.

"Thanks," she said quietly, looking out the window. She was just trying to breathe calmly. She could have never imagined that the evening would end up like this. She sighed. "What a _weird_ night. 'Just you wait, Henry Higgins'…" she sang, lightly.

Derick let out a surprised burst of laughter, and then Anne found herself laughing too, from sheer tiredness more than there being any real hilarity in the situation. It felt good though; the laughter released some of the tension. She hadn't heard his laugh in so long. It pulled at things inside of her, made the past seem closer than it was. When they'd quieted, he glanced at her swiftly again, adjusting his hands on the wheel.

"I wondered why you were teaching," he said, as though continuing a conversation they'd been having. Anne stared at him, her eyebrows raised, but he kept his eyes carefully on the street. She could only see his profile, the strong line of his jaw and the turn of his mouth. "It didn't seem right, somehow," he continued, doggedly.

Anne swallowed, but to be calmly chit-chatting with Derick about what had happened after their break up seemed about as normal as everything else that had happened in the course of the night.

"Dr. Russel was not pleased," she finally murmured.

"I bet not." He had a ghost of a smile on his face, and he turned to look at her. "Whatever happened to her?" His voice was nonchalant, but Anne had to pause.

"She died a few years ago. Lung cancer."

He gave her a long glance this time, searching her features, and Anne looked back curiously, wondering what he was looking for.

"Oh."

Her chest swelled with emotion. She had a million things to ask him. She had wondered for so long about his life, what it had been like for him after her. How long had it taken him to forget her and move on? For years, she'd had a mental list of stories, of funny things she had seen that she knew would make him laugh. She'd kept hoping that one day she would be able to share them with him. She wondered if he had done the same thing, pretended, even if just for moments, that she was still in his life.

But she was sitting in the car silently; she had no idea how to start such a conversation or if he would even respond. The events of the night had brought them closer than they'd been in years, but she knew it wasn't permanent. She looked out at the road, her jaw clenched in frustration. They were nearing her apartment. There wasn't enough time.

When he stopped the car outside her doorstep, she looked over to him, overcome with memories. All those times she'd leaned over, run her hands through his hair, kissed him softly. All those times she'd invited him upstairs…

He was less than a foot away, looking at her the way he always had. They were separated by the middle console and an ocean of the past. Anne gathered her things, her movements clumsy. She needed to get away from him, from that _look_. It was doing things to her, bringing up feelings that she couldn't control. She flung open the door hurriedly and then found herself sinking back in the seat, looking over at him. She couldn't make herself get out just yet.

"Thank you for the ride. And—" She broke off. She didn't know what she was doing. She stared down at the gear shift, but she wasn't seeing it. She was thinking about how easy it would be to just lean over… Her heart was pounding so quickly. But it was useless; there was too much to clear up between them. There was too much that she just couldn't say. One night and one conversation weren't going to do it.

"Well, goodnight," she finally said in quiet resignation. She couldn't think of anything else to add that didn't sound trite, and she looked over at him.

She noticed then the grip that he had on the steering wheel and the tense way he held his arms. His knuckles were white, like he had been struggling against all the same things as she had, like his grip on the wheel was the only thing keeping him from acting. She watched him clench his jaw and then open his mouth like he was going to speak, only to close it again. She kept her eyes on his mouth, unable to look anywhere else. She felt almost dizzy, waiting for him to reply, knowing everything that was hanging in the balance of this one moment.

"Goodnight, Anne," was his tired reply. He turned his head away and relaxed his hands, placing them on his lap. Anne let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. They were going to leave things as they were. She knew that they couldn't possibly do anything different...so why did she feel such a crushing disappointment?

She slid out and nodded her head at him before slowly closing the door, fighting back the sudden urge to cry. She knew it was probably the last time she would see him.


	8. Antilamentation

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 8: Antilamentation

* * *

Regret none of it, not one  
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,  
when the lights from the carnival rides  
were the only stars you believed in - Laux

* * *

Anne blew gently on her steaming mug of tea, letting it warm her chilled hands; her eyes were on her newly finished composition. As of yet, it had no title. The pages were wrinkled and rumpled with use, and there were smudges on all of them from careless erasing. She'd have a copy printed out pristinely when she handed it over to Ben, but for now, she was simply in awe of the fact that she had completed it. It had been so long…_years_ since she had written something she felt proud of, something worth publishing.

In the two months since Derick had returned to L.A., Anne had composed with fervor. As strange as it had felt to have him thrown so abruptly back into her life, it was almost worse to have him gone so completely again. Music had become her refuge.

Everything else in her life had sprung back, had returned to the way it had been before his unexpected reappearance, but Anne couldn't do likewise. Something had changed within her that could never shift back. She'd found comfort and solace in her music in a way that she hadn't since she was a teenager. She'd spent all of the Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks at her piano, night after night. When she would remember to eat, she'd dig into the food ravenously, demolishing halves of deli sandwiches and leftover cold takeout like they were ambrosia. But then it was back to the music.

She would pace restlessly around the apartment, hair spilling out from a messy pony-tail, with a pencil behind each ear and two in her back pocket, and then she would rush to the piano with a new phrase of music formed, bursting from her across the keys. Her block was finally gone, and the notes and melodies poured out. She'd write on the back of receipts she found in the depths of her purse while she waited in line at the grocery store or the bank. Her desk was littered with post-it notes covered in minuscule notation. It was like something within her had been restored. Whatever had been broken, twisted, and dying inside of her was alive again and growing.

It had been uncomfortable, painful, and occasionally unbearable having Derick back in her life, but ultimately it had done her good. Admittedly, she was disappointed by the way things had ended. The night of Lauren's accident had been one of the strangest of her life, and it had brought her and Derick together in a way that never would have happened otherwise. Her heart still jumped at the thought of those last few minutes in the car and she couldn't help wondering the what ifs. She hadn't exactly gotten closure, but it was miles ahead of what she had been feeling for the last eight years.

Derick was no longer a raw wound in her life, but an old scar that still occasionally ached from time to time. She could think about him now without wanting to absolutely die from the pain. They had made some amends. Maybe she would see him again in the years to come and maybe she wouldn't, but she knew that he didn't hate her. It was comforting. She hadn't been able to explain the choices she had made and her regrets, nor had he, but there was no more open animosity or anger from him, no more resentment between them. They were done purposely hurting each other.

And Anne knew that she would always love him. That was what his visit had really shown her; she wouldn't lie to herself anymore. In those last moments in the car, she had wanted him, plain and simple. Derick was an unalterable part of her life. She breathed air, she drank water, and she loved him. He made her feel things that no one else could.

But despite it all, she had no real hope for him. She'd ruined any chance she'd had with him years before. She knew that. She was resigned to her fate, but the feelings never went away. Eight years hadn't done it. 50 years wouldn't either. It had all come flooding back the moment she'd seen him again. She'd never met anyone who could take his place, and she doubted that she would.

Still, there were other things to make her happy: the crisp, cold, snowy winter days; her completed score and the multitude of themes already flying through her head for her next piece; an appointment to play the new music for Ben; a nice cup of tea. She would learn to let the things she had make her happy, instead of wasting away over her regrets and mistakes. January was just around the bend; she'd have a new start for a new year.

She realized now that this was what had been missing from her life for the past years. She had lost the drive to make the life she had dreamed for herself when she lost Derick. The two had been so closely intertwined that the loss of the one was the loss of the other. She had been miserable for years, and she'd never really tried to do anything about it. She'd made herself pay, every day, for her mistakes.

Now she saw a window. She felt a way out. The world that she had built around herself no longer fit, and she didn't have to continue on this way. There were so many other options open for her. She could begin again and do what she had always been too afraid to do before—exactly what _she_ wanted. She would compose music; she would perform; and she would finally find some happiness in her life.

* * *

"Mary, do you realize how many times I've subbed for this dance class for you?" Anne asked, amused and exasperated. "What if I said no, that I had plans?"

Mary's eyes widened in fear. "Do you?"

"No, but—"

"God, don't scare me like that." Mary exhaled heavily in relief. "It's just my hands have been _killing_ me all day."

"Bingo?" Anne asked without looking up.

"Bridge. One of the girls had a tournament yesterday, and even though she knows that Charles Grove has been flirting with me shamelessly for the past few weeks, she put him at the table across the room from mine. Can you believe that woman; what a tart. Everyone knows that I've had my eyes on him. She probably wants him for herself or maybe just his time-share in Florida. I had to stay 30 minutes extra just to talk to him afterward. Guess that's why my feet are bothering me too," Mary added with a phony wince.

Anne smiled to herself, not even trying to repress it. She would miss this when she left the university, she realized. Mary had been one of her only friends, if they could be called that, and Anne would miss her complaining and her ridiculous excuses.

And Anne's leaving was inevitable; she had already given notice. She'd finish out the spring semester and then she would be gone. For too many years she had hid here, avoiding her past, and her dreams, and her _life_. No more.

"All right, Mary." After all, she had expected the older woman to back out of playing for the dance class. She'd even written a note in her planner about it. It would be a surprise if Mary ever played for the evening ballet class herself. Calling in the favor from Anne was a nearly weekly occurrence.

"Hallelujah, Anne. You're an angel."

* * *

Anne hurried into the building, a swirling gush of snow following her inside. She brushed the melting snow flakes from her hair and the arms of her coat, her fingers burning with the heat. Outside it was frigid, but Anne was quickly warming up inside the building. The end of her nose and her cheeks were a rosy red. She walked down the hallway to the dance studios, shoving her gloves into her pocket.

Coming down the hallway from the opposite direction was a man who looked like he was headed to the studio across the hallway from the one Anne was going to. He had on a white t-shirt and loose athletic pants: dance wear, and he was slender but muscled. She unwound her scarf, thinking that he must be the instructor for the other class. She was earlier than normal; she'd never run into the other instructor before. As they walked closer, Anne saw a slow smile break across his face, and at the same moment she realized she recognized him. He reached his door first and paused for a moment to give her a nod before going inside, still smiling at her.

Where had she seen him before? He'd obviously recognized her as well. It danced on the edges of her mind, but she couldn't place him. The light, wavy hair—the tan skin and that playful smile—she knew she knew him. She pushed open the door and walked over to the piano, searching her memories.

The ballet mistress, stately and graceful as always, began the class promptly at 6:00.

Anne was suddenly thankful to have played for the class so many times; she could go through the music without the slightest thought to what she was doing, and she was free to contemplate the man next door. In the periphery, Anne could see the girls running through the center exercises, twirling in their identical black leotards and pink tights.

"Alex—watch that hip! Jenny, you're supposed to start to the left—no, your _other_ left. Think I'll need a drink after class tonight," the ballet mistress finally muttered under her breath, and like a light turning on, Anne suddenly knew.

He was the _bartender_ from her disastrous night out with Lauren, Ben, and Derick. The one who had sent the drink. Anne felt pleased with herself for figuring it out and then confused by what it meant. What were the odds of running into him again. Anne couldn't stop thinking about it through the practice.

After the girls had applauded her and the instructor and gathered their things to go, Anne continued to sit at the bench for a moment, wondering if he would be waiting for her or if he would be gone. There was only one way to find out. She slid on her coat, lifting her hair out from behind the collar, and followed the girls out.

He was leaning casually by the door across the hall, a gym bag slung across one shoulder, coat in hand. He stood up straight as he watched her walk out and he gave her a charming grin. Anne couldn't have avoided the interaction if she tried, and she didn't want to; she was too curious about him. The girls all continued down the hall and very quickly, Anne and the bartender were the only two left in the hallway.

"This is too much of a coincidence." He offered her his hand. It was warm, and he squeezed extra at the end. "I'm Liam Walter. It's Anne, right?"

Anne opened her mouth and then closed it quickly, nodding. "Right. Anne Elliot." She remembered that he had asked around for her name that night.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Anne." His eyes were dancing with amusement.

"Nice to meet you, too. It seems you're a little bit of a double agent—bartender _and_ dancer," she joked.

He laughed lightly. "Have to pay the bills somehow. I'm hopeful that some day I can give up this dancing business and pursue my real love—bar-tending—full time."

She laughed at his joke and looked down, shuffling one foot in distraction. He was looking at her the way he had on that night: as though she were beautiful. Anne wasn't used to people really looking at her at all, let alone like this. She felt herself flush slightly, but the warmth only brought out her features more.

"Listen, I hope you didn't think I was being too forward that night with the drink," he said, looking concerned, and Anne shook her head.

"No, not at all. Actually, I've never had anyone send me a drink, so I was flattered. It was a new experience."

He smirked and then caught her eye, making her look up at him. "Good. And I hope you don't think I'm being too forward _now_ if I ask you to come get a drink with me." He smiled again, looking handsome and hopeful, but Anne immediately began to retreat. This man was asking her on a _date_. She didn't know the first thing about dating or starting relationships. The idea terrified her. And to top it off, all of her feelings were tied up in Derick. It seemed prudent to avoid this new situation all together.

"I don't know. I—"

"Just for a coffee here on the campus. Nothing more than that intended, I swear," he said lightly, holding up his hands. "I'd like to get to know the woman responsible for the strangest coincidence I've ever been in, that's all."

Anne felt herself starting to smile at him, eased by his cheerful demeanor. It was only a coffee; he wasn't proposing to her. He didn't give her any creepy feelings or misgivings, and he seemed trustworthy. And after all, she could spend half an hour speaking with him and then never see him again if she wished. The old Anne would have said no and gone directly home, but then maybe that was why she didn't have many friends. It was a new year and a new Anne, and what could this hurt?

"It is weird, isn't it?" She laughed. "All right. Let's go get coffee."

* * *

His hands were so expressive. Anne eyed them, half of her mind on his words and the other half busy watching him. They were slender, like an artist's, and graceful even when he was only holding a coffee cup or gesturing as part of a story. He was fascinating to watch. And Anne couldn't help thinking how futile it all was.

Here she was, out with one man who seemed genuinely interesting and amiable and even better, who seemed to think that she was too, and her thoughts were all on another man entirely. It had happened before on the rare dates she'd been on after her break-up with Derick. She couldn't look at someone without comparing him to her ex. It was disappointing this time; she'd hoped for something better, for some flicker of feeling or excitement, but the new Anne was just the same as the old. Derick was stubbornly stuck in her head.

"And you can imagine how frightened I was to tell my parents that I wanted to dance professionally. Who wants their kid prancing around in a pair of tights, you know?" He gave her a toothy smile, apparently amused by the thought. "But they were great; totally supportive. They put me through the ballet Academy and helped me move out to California afterward."

He'd been speaking of his dancing career, which had finally brought him to New York, where he danced with a troupe that was famous for producing great dancers, but not for paying them very well. Bartending was an easy way for him to make extra cash while introducing him to new people all over the city.

She wondered what she would think of Liam if the past had never happened. Would this date have been the beginning of a story that ended with wedding bells and chubby babies? Would this have been the night that they started to fall in love? She sat across the small table from him laughing and enjoying herself despite her fractured thoughts. He was charming; he was intelligent; he made her laugh. And he was clearly, openly enamored of her. In another world it would have been the perfect recipe for love.

Shame, then, that in this world there was a Derick Wentworth and that Anne would go on stupidly loving him until they were both dust.

But despite it all, she _was_ enjoying herself. That fact alone made her happy that she had chosen to take the chance on Liam. It wasn't an absolute waste, and she hoped that they could become friends. She just couldn't shake the feeling that he was almost _too_ perfect. She kept waiting for a flaw to pop up: an annoying laugh or ignorant comments, but as the evening passed, none ever came.

Anne wondered at her luck and, more importantly, she wondered about his motives. Perhaps she had managed to meet a legitimately friendly person, simply interested in meeting new people in a big city and making connections. Or maybe not. She would have to wait and see, but for the moment she would continue to appreciate his company.

After covering his origins, they moved on to the predictable topic of her family.

"What was it like having a famous father?" he asked eagerly, once he learned about Walter and Elizabeth. She had thought that the model sister would catch his attention more, but Walter was the only subject he had ears for.

Anne merely shrugged, stirring her tea. It was the same question she always got, and she gave her standard answer. "About what you'd expect, I guess." As much as it fascinated other people, the topic had never held any interest for her.

"It's nice that you had a window to that world. If you'd wanted to be an actress, you'd have had no problem. Not with Walter Elliot pulling the strings…" His eyes lost focus for a moment as he got caught in the idea, and then he turned back to her. "I suppose you wanted to make your own way."

Anne smiled. "Something like that. And acting never had any appeal for me. I've always been interested in music."

"Wish I could say the same. Dancing pays the rent, and it's always there for me to fall back on, but there's just something about movies. It's half the reason I moved to California when I left home." He smiled slyly, catching her eyes. "Maybe you can introduce me to your famous father sometime. Unlike you, _I'm_ perfectly fine with someone else making my way for me…"

Anne laughed at his cheeky response. "Yeah, Walter would love to meet you, I'm sure." She shook her head lightly. "Don't hold your breath. The only thing that interests him is himself."

Anne suddenly realized what time it must be as the coffee shop clerks began putting the chairs up on the empty tables. It was later than she had anticipated.

"I think I'd better be going," she said, gathering her things and stringing her scarf around her neck. She stood and then paused, her hands on the seat back. "I had fun talking with you," she said truthfully. "It was nice."

Liam nodded once, smiling. "So there's this new bar I've been meaning to check out—they're supposed to have the best live music. I'd like to go there with you; you can tell me if they're any good. How about Friday?"

Anne looked at him with round eyes, not sure how to respond.

"Well, you see—"

"Anne, I'm not trying to pressure you into something. Friendship is fine for me right now. I just—I liked talking to you and I'd like to do it again." He looked convincingly earnest. His one-sided smile was engaging, and Anne found herself smiling back before she knew it.

"Okay," she finally said, lightly. She didn't have many friends her age in the city, and he'd proved that he wasn't a total psychopath, nor was he pushing her to start something romantic. The evening had been unusual, but maybe she would just add Liam to the list of new things in her life. "Friday sounds good."

When he asked for her number, she wrote it on one of the brown napkins at the table, smiling more with each digit.

* * *

Anne was surprised by how well that Friday night went. She had never heard of the bar, let alone been there, but the musicians were very talented and the atmosphere was fun and filled with energy. Against the odds, her friendship with Liam took off. Anne pictured Liam as a Walter in his younger years, defying stereotypes by spending time with the quiet, songwriter type.

Although, if she _had_ made a mention of her father, Liam would have perked up the way he always did. The man held some pull for Liam, as his frequent comments made clear. He was apparently a very big fan. She joked with herself about introducing the two after all.

She'd never had a friend like Liam before. He was always deferring to her, making sure that she was happy, that she was enjoying herself. She found it gracious at first, and then it became somewhat bewildering to her. She told herself again and again that he was just a nice man, but every so often, against her will, the thought of what was in it for him would creep into her head. It wasn't low self-esteem; she was aware of her own merits. There just happened to be gorgeous, younger, more-stylish women everywhere they went practically throwing their numbers at him, and Anne had made it clear that Liam was never going to pass farther than friendship with her.

Perhaps he hadn't had many friends either, she would tell herself…even though he seemed to know people wherever they would go. Maybe he was looking for a connection that was less complicated than a romantic relationship. Maybe he just enjoyed spending time with her, but then again, he spent so much time ensuring that she was enjoying herself that Anne doubted he had any time for enjoyment himself. If he _were_ using her, she couldn't tell to what end.

Anne hadn't realized how stilted and stalled her life had become, but suddenly her nights were filled with shows and plays and drinks in upscale bars. Liam liked to see and be seen, she realized. He was his happiest when they were in the same location as the rich and famous. Anne was just grateful that he chose to take her along with him.

She sat low in the seat at one of his ballet performances, absorbed in watching him dance. He was dancing a soloist role and was shirtless, representing a spirit of fire. He was lithe, with a perfect dancer's body. The way he catapulted himself across the stage was astounding. Anne sat, wishing that she could feel _something_ for him.

The simplicity of it was so appealing. Life would be so much easier if she could fall for Liam. She enjoyed their friendship, enjoyed the bolt of excitement he had brought into her life, and when he danced…it was a thing of beauty. Anne wondered if she could force herself into loving him. The dance had made her realize how long it had been since she'd seen a man with his shirt off. She'd grit her way through it in the beginning, and eventually the feelings would be there; it seemed plausible enough to her.

They went to dinner after his show that night, and Anne allowed herself to have a few more glasses of wine than she normally did. In the car on the way home, she felt pleasantly warm, giddy. When Liam parked it outside her apartment, Anne lingered longer than she normally would have, and when his hand found its way to her cheek, she let him kiss her.

His cologne was nice, and his mouth was warm, and the kiss would have been very nice except that Anne wasn't feeling anything. Her pulse was annoyingly calm, and nothing inside of her jumped or jolted at his touch. It was _boring_; she was bored and she wished it was over. Her full attention wasn't even on the kiss. She was wondering if she should pull away or if she should wait for him to.

Liam pulled back very soon after, solving her dilemma, and his eyebrows were drawn down.

"Wow," he said slowly. "That was really…bad. _Awful._ You didn't feel anything, did you?"

Anne shook her head, biting her lip.

"Wow," he said again, sounding amazed. He looked disgusted with himself. "God, I'm sorry—"

Anne had to interrupt him. "Liam, no. This is my fault. I thought I could make myself feel something for you if I just…" She shook her head, feeling embarrassed. "I should have known that it wouldn't work. I'm sorry for…using you." She took a deep breath and spoke quickly. "I've been in love with someone else for a very long time; my ex, actually, and I don't know if I'll really ever get over him. I can only offer you friendship," she finished firmly. She was certain that Liam would have figured out that her feelings were all for someone else, but she felt that she owed him the explanation.

He was still looking surprised by the events of the last few minutes, but he nodded. "That's fine. Friendship; that's good," he amended. "I think that's for the best." She wondered if he had ever had a kiss go so poorly before. He looked as embarrassed as she felt.

After a long, awkward pause, they said their goodbyes, this time the way the normally did, and Anne slid out of the car, still feeling a little uncomfortable.

"We on for lunch on Saturday? Maybe we'll go to that deli you like so much." Liam said, leaning to look out the window and Anne nodded, feeling relieved that at least the botched kiss hadn't totally ruined the friendship.

As she walked to her door and dug through her purse for her keys, Anne realized that Liam had never asked who the man in her past was, and she was grateful for that. She could only imagine the expression on his face as she explained that, like thousands of women across the country, she was saving herself for Derick Wentworth: movie star extraordinaire and love-of-her-life.


	9. No Use

From Where You Are

By Luna

Chapter 9: No Use

AN: I know; I suck. And I can't really promise that future updates will be any more timely. But this chapter is fairly long! Hopefully that's some consolation. Thanks for being patient and for all the wonderful reviews!

* * *

No use telling us love's  
No use. Parched, cracked, the heart  
Drains that love it loves  
And still thirsts. We still care;  
We're spared that. We're apart.  
Tell me there's no excuse,  
No sense to this despair…  
-Snodgrass

* * *

It was like the tight, hard place near her ribs that had felt so pinched all these years was suddenly released, and Anne was filled with so much triumphant joy that it overtook all her senses. It was a moment before she realized that Ben was still talking to her, still explaining how much he loved the music she had brought for him.

When he paused, looking at her expectantly, Anne had to admit that she hadn't heard a word. She rubbed lightly at the skin around her mouth, trying to keep from bursting into a full-fledged grin.

"I'm sorry; what did you say?" she asked Ben, her voice warm with the sound of hidden laughter.

"Do you want to perform this piece for the play yourself—or I should I ask: will you be able to get time off from the university to play your score or should I start looking for another pianist?"

"I'll play it," Anne said hurriedly. She didn't want Ben to think she had any hesitations. "I'm leaving the school in May at the end of the semester, so it won't be a problem.

Ben leaned back into his chair, looking pleased. "Excellent. I'll have someone draw up a contract for us."

It had been far too easy; she had brought her newly finished piece to Ben and played it for him on the keyboard in his office. He hadn't even taken a moment to think before saying that he wanted to use it for his new work. Suddenly, Anne was a bona fide composer and performer within the span of half an hour. She sat with wide eyes, waiting to be woken.

She took a moment to look around at the surroundings. She'd been too focused to really see anything earlier. The office was cluttered and messy. One whole wall was devoted to books, piled every which way on the shelves. Most of the books had tortuously bent spines and dog-eared pages. The other half of the room had filing cabinets and stacks of papers. It was halfway between a bachelor's den and an accountant's office. But Ben looked comfortable in the room. He finished writing the note to himself, shoved papers into a folder, and then gave Anne an easy smile.

"That'll be all set within the week, but enough business. How've you been these past few months?"

"Busy," Anne replied. "First with finishing up the piece; it always takes so much longer than you expect. And I've been spending more of my free time out in the city." Liam had continued to keep her weekend schedule full.

"Good for you—I wish I could say the same, but casting for this new play has been a nightmare. It turns out the woman I cast for the lead is 3 months pregnant, and now one of the lead males is in the hospital with a third degree burn. Lauren just finished up her stint in rehab and she's avoiding the spotlight, otherwise she'd help. But I honestly don't know what I'm going to do." He sighed heavily. "I'd give my right arm to have Derick back for this one."

While Anne mused silently on her similar thoughts, Ben's phone rang.

"Oh, speak of the Devil; it's Lauren," he said. "Do you mind if I take this?" Anne shook her head, and he flipped the phone open.

"Hi babe. Finally awake?"

Anne's immediate reaction was that Ben had to have been talking about a different Lauren than the one she knew. Was he calling the 22 year-old, mess of a woman "babe"? She was very skeptical.

But his whole demeanor had changed. He looked instantly happier, with a soft smile on his face and a tone in his voice that Anne had never heard before. It was whoppingly clear that Ben and Lauren were in some kind of relationship, and Ben wasn't making any effort to keep it a secret. Anne tried to hide her shock.

Lauren was beautiful, certainly. And she had a friendly openness to her that was nice. But she was also flighty and immature with a temper and an obvious jealous streak. Anne couldn't picture Ben being happy with her. He was so quiet, so _serious_. His work and his art were clearly so important to him. They didn't seem to have anything in common; even their priorities in life were totally different. The match didn't make any sense. Anne had the brief thought that perhaps it all was a dream, after all.

"I'll see you when I get home. Hmm? Oh, probably around 6. Yeah, me too." He hung up and turned his attention back to Anne, who was trying in vain to think of something appropriate to say. She couldn't decide if she should address the conversation that she had obviously overheard or if she should play dumb and move onto a new subject.

"I know what you're thinking, Anne. It's written all over your face."

Anne froze, having no idea which of her many thoughts her face was saying for her.

"And you're right; it's totally unexpected. I never thought I would start a serious relationship with Lauren Musgrove." He shrugged his shoulders. "Right from the beginning, there was something between us; it's half the reason that I cast her. I know she noticed it too and was hurt or confused when I never took her up on her advances. But I have a rule about dating anyone in my play, and I _told_ her…"

He snorted lightly, looking amused at his own thought. "And then she started trying to make me jealous. It was funny, in a way. She thought I didn't notice what she was doing. It was cute."

Anne had to remind herself to close her mouth, which had been gaping. So many pieces of a formerly unsolvable puzzle were rapidly snapping into place.

"Anyway; she's been a lot different since she got out of the hospital. Cleaned herself up. I think that night was an eye opener for her—and for all of us. Watching her do so well with the recovery has been great. I loved being able to be there for her when she needed it so much. I think for the first time she realized how superficial some of her relationships were. We've been…happy," he finished, looking almost bewildered by the idea of it. "As strange as it seems, somehow we're just right for each other."

It was obvious that he was in love with Lauren; Anne had never seen him share personal details about his life so readily.

"That's wonderful," Anne replied enthusiastically. She was happy to finally have something appropriate to say. "I'm really happy you two were able to work everything out."

"Thank you." After a moment, Ben seemed to recollect that he was still in his office. "Let's finish everything up and make a tentative schedule so you can get out of here, Ms. Elliot: my newest composer. I'm sure you'll want time to process all this."

That, Anne thought, was for certain.

* * *

Anne was staring down onto the top of her sandwich with unseeing eyes as Liam spoke about one of his fellow dancers in the company. It was a common theme of their conversations. People seemed to find him inherently trustworthy; he knew little secret details about everyone around him. Whenever they went out, Liam would tell her something new about someone in his life: often scandalous or totally outrageous tales. At first it had been exciting to learn all the sordid details about New York's social elite, most of whom she had never met, and in general, she didn't mind; he made his life sound so much more exotic than hers. But today she simply found him grating.

For once, Anne had chosen the location, and it was a far cry from Liam's usual establishments. The building itself was nondescript with a hand-painted, nearly illegible sign with peeling letters. It was a proverbial hole-in-the-wall. But inside were the most delicious sandwiches that Anne had ever had. **Goldstein's** had been a staple in her diet all through college, and she had never lost her fondness for the place. Derick had always said the sandwiches were like heart attacks on a bun, but he'd loved eating them just as much as she had. The deli had always been linked in her memory to happier times.

She realized now that it had been a total waste to come. She was too keyed up to have an appetite. She hadn't had time to even think about what had happened in Ben's office yet. She had left Ben and immediately met Liam here for their planned lunch, and it was too much. All she really wanted was to go home and sit by herself for half an hour to work out what everything meant. But instead Liam was _talking. _She didn't know who in particular he was ranting about today, but it didn't matter. As long as she nodded in the right places, he was happy and Anne could think about whatever she wanted.

"The meter," Liam said suddenly, fully catching Anne's attention for the first time all day. At the same moment, she realized that the parking meter must've run out at least 15 minutes prior. They had spent longer than planned inside the deli. He hurriedly grabbed for his coat and scarf. He was parked a few streets over; there hadn't been any open spaces on the street outside the deli.

"You clean up here, and I'll go pull the car around. I'll see you in ten. If I get a ticket, I'm going to shoot someone," he mumbled on the way out of the door. A cold blast of air flew in in his wake, making Anne shiver. But it was a minor relief to suddenly be alone.

Lauren. And_ Ben!_ Anne cleared away their baskets and trash from the table, letting her mind run with the subject. That night—the night of the accident—had been all about _Ben_. Anne had known that the other girl was upset and jealous, but she'd assumed incorrectly that it was because of Derick.

Suddenly, all the eye rolls and the glares, the catty signals that Lauren had been giving all night made so much more sense. Anne had basically ignored Derick the whole evening, had focused all her attention on Ben because she thought it would placate Lauren, and the effect had been disastrous. Anne had been unknowingly flirting with Lauren's love interest right in front of her face. It was no wonder that she had gotten so offended. Anne sat back down in her chair, shaking her head at events that had transpired.

Through the glass door of the deli, she had a clear view of the sidewalk and the street, and as she waited for Liam, she watched the pedestrians stomp through the layer of snow on the ground, pulling their coats tighter around themselves against the wind.

She looked down at her hands, idly cleaning the dirt from under her nails. Lauren's behavior at the rehearsals suddenly had a new meaning, too. Anne had thought that it had all been a show for her, a special kind of way to make her feel miserable. But again, Lauren's aim had been for Ben. _He_ was the one who was supposed to be feeling jealous. Derick had only been an unknowing side character in their little drama. Lauren would have flirted with any of her co-stars, but Derick happened to be the only other person in the play.

Anne couldn't stop the little thrill, the stupid gush of warmth that went through her when she thought of Derick being single. She'd never really believed the pictures and stories in the magazines. From week to week, his pictures were always printed across them, but never from any respectable news source. In any of the interviews that she had seen, he'd never said anything except denials. Still: to know for certain, to absolutely know that there was nothing between Lauren and Derick made her almost shamefully happy. If she couldn't have him, then a 22 year-old actress with a drinking problem shouldn't have been able to either.

She'd been watching the street without giving it any real attention, keeping an absent eye out for Liam, but she found herself drawn to one person in particular. He was walking purposefully toward the deli, like he was going to come inside. Her immediate thought was that it was Derick, as though her longing for him had conjured him up, but that was impossible. She knew very well that he was in California.

She couldn't see any of his features; he had a baseball cap pulled down low on his forehead and his coat collar up high against the cold air, but she still felt a sense of recognition. She'd seen that walk enough times to know it without question. As the man walked inside, Anne found herself standing suddenly, without being aware of moving from the chair because, in fact, it was Derick coming in from the street. He was close enough now for her to see his features under the hat, and it was unmistakably him.

The blood began to pound in her cheeks, and she had time to let out one shocked breath of air while he lightly stomped the snow off his shoes, just inside the door. He hadn't looked up, hadn't seen her yet, but it would only take a moment. She was still standing stupidly at the small table, and she was the only other customer in the small diner.

Anne had another moment to try to blink away the surprise and then he looked up. She watched his look of neutrality be washed away by startled recognition.

"Anne!" he cried in surprise, looking as shocked as she'd ever seen him.

"Hello." Her response was much quieter than his, but that was mostly because her throat wasn't working properly. She'd expected a quick recovery from him, expected that he would slide right into the forced cordiality that they'd adopted for the play rehearsals, but instead he looked completely thrown by her presence. A quiet kind of panic was showing all over his face.

"I was just—uh, lunch." He pointed to the cash register and then rapidly walked over to pay without saying anything more to her. Anne wasn't sure what to do with this situation. Liam hadn't pulled around with the car yet, so she was stuck here for the moment. It was too cold to wait outside, but too awkward to stay right where she was. Her heart was still beating quickly from the surprise and she felt embarrassed and self-conscious for no reason.

She settled for moving from the table to the door; she would immediately be able to see when Liam pulled up and could make a quick exit. While Derick paid for his food, she made a show of putting on her coat, taking extraordinarily long with the buttons, just in case he was watching her. She didn't want him to think she was paying any attention to him, but she watched him intently from the corner of her eye. She saw when he turned from the counter in her direction. Was he going to walk right back out to the street without another word?

But he stopped in front of her, white deli bag in hand. The baseball cap was shoved into his pocket now, and he'd obviously just run his hand through his hair. Anne had just finished with the last button she could possibly button, and she looked up slowly when she realized that he wasn't walking outside. She was too nervous to make eye contact, so she settled for raising her eyes up to his chin. For a second, she couldn't believe what she saw—he was smiling. He was smiling down at her and it was _genuine_, not forced.

Derick had obviously used the time at the counter to recover. He no longer looked so shocked, but almost pleased instead. The smile was nice; it lit up all his features and said he was happy to see her, despite the surprise of it all. Anne found herself smiling back at him without effort, and in that moment she couldn't think of anything except how happy she was to see him again.

He looked down briefly, and then caught her eye. "I suppose if I were going to run into you anywhere, it would be here."

Anne laughed lightly. "Yes."

It was the first mention of their past that wasn't tied to anything negative. They'd only had happy memories here. She was finding it hard to look away from him. He was in New York and he was smiling at her like _that_; it was too much.

"I still love this place, too. I come here every time I'm in town." He looked around with appreciation and nostalgia. Anne tried to pick a coherent thought out of the jumble in her head.

"I thought you were in Los Angeles," she said haltingly. "What are you doing back in New York?" She felt lost, confused, and completely on the wrong foot, especially because Derick seemed to have recovered so easily.

There was a pause before he answered, like he was choosing his words carefully. "Well…this and that, I guess. At the moment: mostly work. Post production ended last week for the movie I was doing in L.A., and I'm starting filming on a new movie already. We're filming parts on location in the city and parts in this old house out in the exurbs."

"Busy schedule," Anne said, raising her eyebrows. "Are you hating the drive between the two sets yet?"

They'd had so much practice over the last few weeks talking to each other, speaking as though they were just acquaintances that she found she wasn't surprised that they could slip right into it again: the casual, meaningless banter. It had become their default mode.

He chuckled. "Not yet, no. And it _is_ a fair amount of driving, but I don't mind." He looked away and shrugged his shoulders. Slowly, his eyes moved back to hers, watching her closely. "It's given me a lot of time to think about some things. About myself. I think I've gotten some…perspective on my life, which I really needed. I've been seeing things differently lately." He looked down and away from her, transferring the bag he was holding from one hand to the other distractedly, and Anne found she didn't know how to respond. It was taking a tremendous effort to act nonchalantly and pretend like this conversation wasn't anything special, but Derick was _single_, and he was _in town_, and suddenly he was giving her ambiguous messages with whole mountains of subtext. She wished she could sit back down again.

"Oh," Anne managed to say.

He caught her gaze again and gave her a one-sided smile. "And filming has been great. You probably already know that I'm working with Walter."

Anne's jaw dropped.

"Walter? As in _Walter_, Walter? My father?" she asked, floored by the information. She had never thought that the two would ever sign on for the same film. It was like they worked in two different universes. Walter hadn't done anything of substance or meaning for years, and no director or producer would ever think to ask Derick to act in a B-list movie. She hadn't seen her father for months, but the last she'd heard was that he was negotiating a minor part in a cheesy ballet flick. Whatever film he was doing now instead was complete news to her.

Derick laughed at her reaction. "I guess you _didn't_ know. Yes, your father." He paused for a moment and then gave her a mischievous look. "As a matter of fact, we're playing the same character. I play the younger version of him."

Anne stopped short at his words for a moment, and then she laughed, turning up her lip with disgust. "I don't know about that; I think it might be a little too Freudian for me."

He threw back his head and laughed, and then he smirked down at her. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Anne," he quipped.

She smiled, feeling for all the world as though she had entered a time warp. _This_ was the Derick that she knew and remembered. This was the Derick from her past, not the stone-faced, stilted version of him she'd seen during the play rehearsals. She couldn't help wondering at the reversal. It was absolutely impossible, the idea she was thinking. What she was hoping for _could not_ _possibly_ be true. It was foolish and silly. She was crazy, but she couldn't stop herself. Had he returned because of her?

The insistent and grating noise of a car horn brought her away from her fanciful thoughts and back to the immediate reality of the deli. The horn sounded closer than the general traffic noise of the city; it was coming from right outside the doors. Liam's interruption could not have been less welcome. She jumped, turning her head around to look at the street.

"Oh," she said distractedly. "That's my ride."

She looked back at Derick with uncertainty. How was a conversation like this between them supposed to end? Now that she knew he was in the city, they couldn't just leave everything as it was. But several more beeps caused her to jump again before she could think of anything to say. There was a car behind Liam's now, waiting for him to move, and the driver was obviously growing impatient. In the street, Liam opened his car door and stood up, beckoning to her over the top of his car as the one behind him continued to beep at him. She saw Derick looking at Liam, saw him trying to make out the other man's features. Did he recognize Liam as the bartender from the other night?

He looked down at her thoughtfully, all of their camaraderie gone. "Well, you'd better go."

Slowly, Anne took a step toward the door, placing her hand on the Push sign. She felt so rushed and discombobulated. The second car was beeping constantly now, the owner simply holding their hand down on the horn. She didn't know if she had all of her belongings; she felt like she was leaving something behind.

"It was nice talking to you. I—really…well—I," she finished incoherently, looking over her shoulder as she left. She didn't want to go, but the social pressure from the other car was overwhelming. Derick nodded and gave her a small wave as she walked out the door. Once inside Liam's car, she watched Derick intently through the window, but he quickly slid out of view as they pulled away.

* * *

Idiot! She was a complete _idiot_. It was the main, recurring thought in her head. In her rush, she hadn't bothered to ask Derick anything important. She didn't know where he was staying; did he spend the majority of his time on set in his trailer, or had he taken an apartment in the city? She had no idea what his schedule was like or if he had any sort of free time. She didn't even know how long he was staying in town! Derick might already be halfway done with filming, halfway done with his time in New York.

She sat quietly, frozen in disbelief as all the thoughts she hadn't been able to come up with in the deli went flooding through her mind. She'd been blindsided by his sudden appearance, and now that she was no longer standing in front of him, she could think of a thousand things she should have said and done instead.

And to her left in the car, Liam was still talking. She hadn't made sense of anything he'd said since she'd gotten inside. She could hear him, but it seemed to go into her ears and then dissipate. They'd been on different wavelengths since they arrived at the deli. Anne hadn't managed to pay any attention to him all day. She made a half-hearted attempt to focus now; she tried to tune in, but all she really wanted to do was go home and think about those last minutes with Derick. What did it all mean?

"Anne," Liam called in a singsong voice. "Earth to Anne," he teased. She looked to him with wide, confused eyes, mentally grasping at any topic he might have been speaking about. She came up blank.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, furrowing her brow. She realized that they were only a block from her apartment.

He laughed. "You didn't hear anything I just said, did you? I asked if we were still on for next Sunday? Dinner?"

Anne nodded slowly and managed to make herself smile. "Right. Yes. Of course."

But finally they had reached her apartment and she couldn't think about anything else except getting inside. Maybe everything would make sense when she was comfortable and at home, surrounded by all her things and free from all interruptions.

Anne slid out almost before the car was fully stopped, stumbling slightly at the curb. "That sounds great," she added on. "See you then." Without another word, she shut the door on Liam's slightly bewildered expression.

She had planned to sit down and relax, to calmly mull over the events of the day. But once inside the apartment, she found herself pacing in agitation instead, her heart thumping uncomfortably in her throat.

What had that been? What had it meant?

The shock was starting to wear off, and she was almost frightened by her own thoughts. She knew she was setting herself up to be disappointed, but she couldn't stop the tornado of emotions that was trying to roll through her. She thought about the last six months of her life. She had been a shell of a person, simply going through the motions of life, and then everything had started to happen at once. When they first were reunited, Derick had been cold and hurtful, but then he had helped Ben choose her for the play. He had been grudgingly respectful, even cordial, and then after the whole Lauren debacle, something of their old rapport had returned. And then he was gone again. She'd composed music with fervor, and she'd thought about him every day, but there hadn't been any communication between them.

How did they get from there to _this_? She went over every minute of her conversation with him. She analyzed every second in her mind. Not much had been said, but everything was there in the way he had looked at her and the way he had spoken. It was more than politeness; there had been more in the meeting than what unexpectedly running into an old flame required. He had been acting the way he had when they were together, the way he had when he was still in love with her.

Anne vaulted from the couch, her hands on her face as she tried to call back that thought. She was just torturing herself. To think that she and Derick might ever be together, to think that they could love each other again brought her nothing but agony. After everything that had happened, it just wasn't possible. She had to be misinterpreting the situation. That's all there was to it.

Anne flopped face down onto the couch, burying her head in the pillow. She was too old for all this nonsense. She had already decided that she was going to be single forever; she and Derick were never going to work everything out. It was useless to get so excited over nothing more than a conversation that wasn't going to lead anywhere.

But against all her wishes and against her common sense, Derick had her on fire once again.

* * *

Anne stood in the magazine aisle at the supermarket staring thoughtfully at the cover of one publication in particular. She realized now that it had been a poor idea to come down this aisle; she'd been looking for the light bulbs, and now she was stuck in front of the rows of glossy pictures of celebrities and brides. Thankfully none of the covers showed Derick, but there was one with his name posted on it in a large font followed by the blurb: **"Exclusive interview: Derick's return to New York, his new movie, and his new outlook.**" It had her attention.

Anne never let herself read the magazines—she didn't even know why she was contemplating buying this one at all, but then without another thought she tossed it into her cart and rolled purposefully down the aisle toward the light bulbs.

There wasn't any harm in it, after all. It was a fashion magazine, yes, but a respectable one that had a reputation for doing interesting interviews. Derick wouldn't have agreed to give an interview for a trashy magazine. It wasn't the _National Enquirer_ and it wasn't _Cosmo. _And granted, maybe it was a little pathetic, but it was a way to feel close to him; one of the only options she currently had.

* * *

****New York winters don't have a reputation for being kind, and inside the trailer isn't much warmer than outside. Derick Wentworth rubs his hands together in front of the tiny kitchenette stove as he makes us tea, while I think about going back and sitting in the car.** "**I always feel like there should be tea at interviews," Wentworth says over his shoulder from the kitchenette. "Gives you something to do with your hands and a perfect reason to stall on any question you don't know how to answer." He says it with customary cheek as he sits down across from me at the table. He's wearing a simple navy pull-over and jeans and apparently feeling overjoyed about it. **

"**I've been wearing three-piece suits for the past week." The evidence for this is sprawled all across the small trailer, a sight that would surely make the costume designer cringe. "The fashions were really elaborate. I can't see how they managed. Twice a day, Jeff [Harville, the director] says 'Cut! Derick, where are your spats?' and I'm going, 'My what? I already have on five shirts, what more do you want from me?' But I do love the hats," he adds, after a beat.** "**Christine just has to wear the dress. She gets all smug about it. Meanwhile everyone looks at me like I'm an idiot because I come back from break to film and I'm missing my tie. Jeff's going to have a hell of a time with continuity."**

**Doubtful that anyone will notice a missing tie; the news of Wentworth doing a romantic period drama has his fan base buzzing. Rumors are already circulating about an off-screen romance between Wentworth and his co-star, Christine Darcy, but he shoots that suggestion down with a simple "No". The film is a surprising career move for a man who has made a point of staying away from the leading-man role, thriving instead in psychological thrillers and tough dramatic roles.**

"**Initially, I was going to reject it. I didn't want to do a film in New York. I wasn't interested in doing a love story. I had a million reasons not to do it. Once you play that kind of role, it's all everyone wants you to play. So there's a danger. But the character crept into my head somehow. I was out running errands one day, and I realized that I'd been thinking about him the whole time I was driving, about the dialog and the delivery. That's when I realized that this was something that I had to do." He looks cheerful for someone who's playing a role he swore never to play, but then again, it's not _really_ a leading-man role. Those hoping for a light, romantic comedy should take caution; this flick packs an emotional wallop that will leave you reeling.  
**

**"I think that the overall message of the film is that there are people in your life who are always with you; that some people leave a mark. Especially if it involves any kind of love. Take the character I play; he was in love with this unbelievable woman, and it ends poorly. He finds that he can't ever really recover from losing her. I liked that message, and that's what drew me to the movie, really, that idea. We're all walking around with wounds from those we've lost because there are certain things and people that you just don't move on from. Or you shouldn't, anyway."**

**With Wentworth on board, not to mention the award winning director and cinematographer, the film quickly drew other stars in for a truly impressive line-up. The film has all the potential to be _the_ movie to see next year; its release is planned for next January. Once voted at the top of the list of "Actors Under 30 to Watch" in this magazine, Wentworth has made good on the prediction. With his unique ability to charm critics and audiences, his continued fame as an actor comes as no surprise. In some ways, his success mirrors that of Walter Elliot, who was a particular favorite of audiences in the 70's. In the film, they play the same character at different ages. It's an inspired choice, assuming that Elliot is up to the challenge. There's been a certain scent of desperation in all his recent films, none of which made any sort of impression on anyone. But Wentworth seems hopeful. In any case, he has nothing but kind words to say about the older man. In their good looks and their effortless charm, the two men do share an eerie similarity. But Elliot is also well known for his prima donna behavior behind the scenes, his vanity, and his complete willingness to share any and all details about his personal life.**

**On the other hand, Wentworth's trailer is a frightening reminder of why everyone should avoid RV campers, and as soon as his sudden and unexpected return to New York is mentioned, he clams up fast, taking a noticeably long drink out of his mug. So perhaps they're not so similar, after all. He's silent for a long moment, and it's hard to tell if he's regretting doing the interview entirely or simply regretting that he revealed his stalling tactic so early in the game. "I've been avoiding this city for a long time," he finally admits. "For various reasons-none of which really make sense any more, and none that I could even explain. Basically, working with Ben Wick's was a real eye-opener for me. It made me remember the things I love about this city." The production of _Landscape with Flatiron_ was immensely successful, playing sold-out shows for its full run at the Actor's Playhouse, launching the critically acclaimed writer to his first commercial success. **

**"I left feeling like I had unfinished business here. So I'm back." Wentworth gives a shrug afterward, as the definitive end to his response. It's almost endearing; he knows he's being purposefully vague, but it's a deft maneuver that allows him to skip over the rest of the personal questions with nothing more than an enigmatic smile. "More tea?"***


	10. All I Have to Say For Myself

**From Where You Are**

**Chapter 10: All I Have To Say For Myself**

* * *

It's when you're on the brink of something  
that you lose your balance.  
You told me that once.  
When I can't bring myself to say what I need to,  
my heart plays Russian Roulette with my throat.  
-Nettifee

* * *

Anne sat down heavily on the couch in her living room, throwing her bags haphazardly on the floor, her cell phone in her hand. She had one missed call from an unknown number. It was rare that anyone called her at all. They must have left the message while she was coming back from campus. Outwardly, she only dialed her voicemail, mechanically entering her password, but inwardly she was singing 'thankyouthankyouthankyou' because one of the messages had to be from Derick.

Ever since she'd run into him at the deli and read his enigmatic interview, he had occupied all of her time. He was a constant undercurrent in her stream of thoughts. No matter what task she was doing, the thought of him lingered. What had their run-in at the deli meant? Why had he done that particular interview? Anne had her own opinions, but they had seemed too wild and unrealistic to ever consider seriously.

But now, he had called her, just as she'd hoped he would. Anne knew it, and if only that cool, automated feminine voice would get to the message, she would know what he had to say to her. Their last meeting had gone so well and had left so much up in the air. Derick must have been preoccupied with the thought of her, just as she'd been unable to concentrate on anything but the idea of him. He'd gotten her number somehow and was calling to talk, or maybe even invite her out to dinner—

Disappointment coursed through her, sharp and devastating as the message started to play. The voice was male, but it wasn't Derick. It sounded slightly effeminate and there was a definite note of stress in the tone. Anne finally recognized it as Penelope Clay's personal assistant. She had met him a few times over the years of Penelope's marriage to Walter. He sounded flustered.

"Anne, it's Matt Primm. You cannot imagine; the absolute _worst_ thing has happened. As you probably know, Penelope has had her benefit planned for weeks; it's been on the website and _everything_, but Ellen Dashwood scheduled _her_ benefit for the prevention of sex trafficking for the same night, and you know how popular a cause that is right now." He sounded exasperated. "We've had more people decline than we expected because of Ellen's benefit, and Penelope doesn't want to look like an amateur throwing her first party, so I've been commissioned to help stack the audience for her. Please come and bring a date if you can. Someone fashionable and _young_." Matt gave her the address and the time before saying a hurried goodbye.

She imagined that he had been commissioned to call every single person in Penelope's contact list who hadn't already been invited to the benefit. Times must have been tough indeed if he'd had to resort to calling her. She deleted the message, disappointed that it had not been from Derick.

Anne sighed and hung up her coat and bag, which she had dropped on the floor in her excitement. She began to cook dinner for herself, boiling water for rice, cutting vegetables and chicken for a simple stir fry. She let her imagination run with images of her and Derick together at the benefit. Matt had said to bring someone stylish and young…

It was a happy thought, and she dwelled on the pretty picture it made in her head as she cooked. Ultimately, it was not something that was going to happen by magic or luck, she thought to herself, slicing through carrots and peppers. Derick was not going to appear on her doorstep and profess his love for her. She had spent too much time waiting, floundering in despair or wistfully longing for something to happen. She knew that now, and she knew his character enough to know that he was not going to contact her without some encouragement.

If she wanted events to move forward, she had to move them. But how? She slid all the ingredients into the pan and then poured herself a glass of wine.

There was always Walter—but Anne was reluctant to use her father for anything, even if he was the surest way to get in contact with Derick. Who knew if Derick had any interest in her? She shook her head to herself and sipped the wine.

The facts were that they had had one unexpected run in at a deli. They had not exchanged phone numbers; they had not talked about anything important. Anne was letting her thoughts run wild, but with no clear evidence. She could be hopeful, but all her hopes might be completely unfounded. She didn't want to risk the awkwardness of contacting Walter for anything less than a sure thing, and when had Derick ever been a sure thing?

No. Anne would call Liam and invite him to the benefit. That would be the easiest thing. Matt had said to bring a date, and she could finally repay Liam for all of the exciting places that he had invited her. She wasn't dying to go with Liam, but at least he would be someone to talk to. She wouldn't be arriving by herself to a party that she had only been invited to by necessity, and any of Penelope's friends that Anne was acquainted with would be charmed by Liam and impressed that Anne had found such an attractive date, even if it would not technically _be_ a date.

It was shallow, but Anne wanted people to know that her life was on the upswing. She wasn't a downtrodden teacher anymore. She was young, she was happy, and if she were honest, her motives were not entirely pure for attending the benefit. If Penelope had been desperate enough to invite Anne, she certainly would have had Walter contact his friends as well, and maybe even his current cast members. It was a delicious thought. The idea was more than a long shot, but Anne couldn't get rid of the nagging hope that she might see Derick at the benefit. If he wasn't there, it was as much as she expected, but if he was—she finally had a chance to see if anything still existed between them.

* * *

The thrift store smelled like dust and old shoes with some kind of chemical overtone. Anne hadn't wanted to spend too much money on a dress that she would only wear for one evening, but she was tired of her wardrobe, tired of all the clothes she only wore to teaching. Why didn't she have anything nice to go out in? She had been visiting some of the nicer thrift stores, searching for a treasure amid the junk. She'd had little success.

She pulled a blue sequined dress from the rack, attracted by the sparkle of it, but it had shoulder pads and velvet and was monstrously ugly and outdated. She wrinkled her nose and put it back on the rack. She was losing hope of finding anything. She would wear the same old dress that she always wore to functions, and Penelope would be mortified that she had invited her. Anne smiled to herself at the thought of Penelope's face and pictured Penelope trying to hide her at a corner table, perhaps behind a conveniently placed fern tree.

Black lace caught her attention next, and she pulled it from the mass of hangers. Anne was shocked to see that the dress was actually wearable—even _fashionable_. The black lace overlay was beautiful. The dress was knee-length with a pencil skirt and small capped laced sleeves. The back was cut low in the shape of a V. It was both classy and sophisticated, and it was in her size.

She pulled the curtain closed on the small, dimly lit dressing room. It was a small space to maneuver around in, but she managed to pull the dress over her head without ripping any seams. With the side zipper all the way up, the dress fit snugly over her Anne's slender hips. She craned her head over her shoulder to try to get a view of the back. She furrowed her brow thoughtfully, considering how large her butt looked in the dress.

She didn't look half bad, she thought with approval. If she was not very much mistaken, Anne thought she had found her dress. It was a flattering cut, understated but sexy. She ran her hands over the dress and smiled at herself in the mirror. This was exactly what she had wanted to find. It had to be a good omen. She wouldn't have found the dress unless Derick was meant to see it, she told herself. The universe had been kind to her thus far; she just hoped her luck would hold.

* * *

Anne shut the cab door as Liam handed money to the driver through the window. She was lightheaded with anticipation for the evening. The entrance to the building was crowded with men in winter coats with cameras around their necks. They stomped their feet to keep warm and blew air into their hands. There was a backdrop with the logo of Penelope's foundation scattered across it. Guests could pause for the photographers if they wished. The paparazzi had all turned in anticipation as she and Liam had arrived, but they had turned back away almost instantly. Anne was fine with this, but she knew that Liam was disappointed. He would have loved to have seen himself on the Society page in the morning's newspaper or on the internet. They hurried inside past the photographers.

"What's this benefit for again?" Liam asked as they entered the building. Anne tried to remember the name of Penelope's foundation.

"It has something to do with saving the natural flora and fauna of New York," Anne said. She pointed at the logo, which featured, what Anne could only assume, was a native flower of the state. Although Anne was sure that money was being raised to help the cause, the benefit seemed more like a popularity contest than anything else. Whoever could have the most people, and especially the most _famous_ people, at their event won the contest. Anne doubted that Penelope's devotion to the cause went any deeper than that.

Inside the large hall, it was warm, with soft lights. Tables were set up along the perimeter of the large circular room, leaving space in the center for the podium and projector where Penelope and her fellow philanthropists had given a number of brief speeches. A slide show was in progress, and Penelope would speak again later in the evening. Anne and Liam were running fashionably late. Anne had been on time, but Liam had spent an inordinate amount of time arranging and rearranging the silk pocket square in his tux. She had rolled her eyes, but she didn't mind missing some of the earlier speeches. She secretly wanted to ask Liam how long it had taken him to get that just-rolled-out-of-bed hair, but she held her tongue. She was afraid his answer would prove that he had taken longer to get ready than she had.

The large floor at the center of the ring of tables also left the possibility open for dancing. Waitresses and waiters milled around the room with trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. There were bars set up where the guests could order something a bit stronger if they were so inclined. A few people were sitting while others stood in groups of black tuxes and brightly colored dresses. The chatter was animated and the atmosphere in the room was bright.

"I never would have pegged Penelope Clay for a philanthropist," Liam murmured as they dropped off their coats at the coat check.

"I think her publicist told her it would help her image," Anne said with a smile. "Walter just goes along with it."

"Keeping his woman happy—nothing wrong with that." Liam was looking around the circular room with interest. "So I'll get to meet the infamous Walter tonight," he added, sounding hopeful. "I wasn't sure he was going to be here."

Anne knew it was a lie. Liam had asked if Walter would be there when she'd invited him.

"Well, Walter loves these things. Give him food and cameras and he's perfectly content."

Anne's quickly scanned the room as she as Liam checked their coats. There were too many people; too many dark haired men looking like perfect cutouts of each other. She couldn't see Derick anywhere. She felt disappointment sink through her—but it was still early, she thought quickly. He might still arrive.

She gave the room one last go over and made eye contact with a slender blonde woman. It took Anne a moment to realize that it was her half-sister, Elizabeth. She was standing with a handsome man, and Anne guessed he was a fellow model. She couldn't think of the last time she had seen Elizabeth, so she had no idea if he was Elizabeth's boyfriend. For all Anne knew, he could have been Elizabeth's husband. It had been that many years since they had seen each other. They had held each other's gaze for too long, and Anne felt compelled to say the perfunctory hellos. She turned to Liam, who was gazing around with interest.

"My sister Elizabeth is here. Want to say hello with me?"

Liam's face lit up at the prospect of meeting a model. He grinned and said, "Lead the way," with his hand resting lightly on the middle of her back.

Elizabeth smiled haughtily as Anne approached, but she made a big show out of kissing the air by Anne's cheek in greeting. Her perfume wafted over Anne, smelling strongly of flowers. Elizabeth was pale, and her dress had alternating bands of grey, black, and white. Her lips, by contrast, were fire-engine red. She looked chic and also very bored.

The man at her side looked Anne over once with little interest.

"Qui est-elle?" he asked Elizabeth. His suit was very slim. In her heels, Elizabeth was nearly the same height as he was. Anne felt like she had entered the land of beautiful giants.

"Ma soeur," Elizabeth quickly responded with a little eye roll. To Anne, she smiled brightly. "What a nice surprise. I admit that I hadn't expected to see you at one of these events. Your dress is just darling," she cooed. "Lace is very _in_ this spring," she finished with approval. "I guess you must still be in New York, playing that violin."

Anne nodded after a beat. She'd debated about correcting Elizabeth, but in the end it seemed like more effort than it was worth.

"Right, and you're living in Paris now?" Walter had mentioned it at one of their lunches.

"Ah, oui," Elizabeth replied with a smug smile. "With Paul," she said, simpering at her date. "He's an incredibly boring human being, but his apartment is the best in the city. Spectacular view." She laughed at Anne's shocked expression. "Oh, don't worry. He doesn't speak a word of English. Not even "hello"." She rubbed his arm affectionately, her red nails standing out against the black of his jacket, and he smiled at her. "We were in New York for a shoot when Daddy called me about this benefit, and I thought, why not?. Free booze, at the very least."

Paul continued to look out into the crowd, unconcerned with Anne or Liam. But Elizabeth's eyes slid from Anne's dress to Liam, flitting up and down, and then up and down again. Anne supposed that Elizabeth had just noticed his tall, lithely muscled frame and the perfectly tailored suit.

"And who's your friend?" Elizabeth asked, looking sultry.

"Liam Walter," Liam shook Elizabeth's offered hand with a winsome smile. "I'm a friend of Anne's. It's such a pleasure to meet you. Can I just say—you're absolutely stunning. Anne told me you were a model, but I had no idea you would be so beautiful."

Elizabeth smiled as though she didn't hear this type of comment every day of her life. Anne felt suddenly that it had been a mistake to come here. She was out of place. Liam belonged in the world of the beautiful giants much more than she did. She wondered how long she would have to stay.

Anne excused herself from the situation, feeling it would be better to stand alone than to listen to Liam and Elizabeth fawn over each other. She took a glass of champagne from one of the waiters who was passing by and sipped it, still half-heartedly looking around at the people in the large room. She noticed her father standing several yards away, and he beckoned her over.

"Anne," he said, in a happily booming voice. "So glad you could come. Penelope would have had my balls in a vice if I didn't get everyone I knew here," he finished in an undertone. "Had to invite the whole damn cast as well." But Walter was enjoying himself and the crowd; he loved seeing and being seen.

He looked like a paragon of health this evening. Anne thought that he might have lost a few pounds, and she wondered if it had to do with the new movie he was filming with Derick. Anne was sure he had insisted on stopping on the walkway at the entrance for as many photos as the paparazzi wanted of him. She wouldn't have put it past Walter to have arranged for the press to be there in the first place. He was flush with happiness and alcohol.

And then, with an easy stride, Derick was moving across the room toward them.

"Wentworth!" her father boomed as happily as he had yelled her own name. He clapped Derick on the back as he joined them. "So good of you to come. Penelope's speech is bound to be godawful, but the nosh is not half bad." Derick had been smiling at Walter's greeting, and now he turned his head and smiled warmly at Anne.

She couldn't contain the smile that spread across her face. She had been waiting all night, all week really, hoping that Derick would be here.

Here he was, looking so handsome in his suit and smiling as though he had been waiting to see her as well.

"Oh, this is my daughter, Anne," Walter said, noticing where Derick's attention was focused. "My other daughter is here, too. Elizabeth. You should meet _her_." Walter craned his neck, looking for his eldest daughter. "Let me go find her." Spotting her, he excused himself, leaving Anne with Derick.

"You look beautiful," Derick said, and Anne felt heat rush to her face, and she looked down, away from his eyes. She was glad she had spent all that time on her hair; glad she had put on the extra mascara. It had all been worth it, just for that reaction.

"Oh, thank you." She ran her hands over the side of her dress, looking for something innocuous to say. "This is—it's from a thrift store," she said, laughing with a shrug of her shoulders. She looked up at him again. "But _you_. You look great. That's a great tux."

He smiled wryly. "Penguin suit. I'd much rather be in a t-shirt right now. I've been wearing a suit day-in and day-out for weeks now. They've lost some of their appeal."

"You're still filming; how has that been going?"

It was strange how easy it felt talking to Derick, how natural it all was, despite the circumstances. She relaxed for the first time since entering the benefit.

"It's been wonderful. It's been such an experience. You should come to the set sometime, just to see the clothes. Here I am complaining about my suits, meanwhile the women…" He mimed walking in voluminous skirts. "I can't imagine how they do it."

"I'd love that," Anne said, her heart pounding hard against her chest. Derick was being so open and friendly, and his eyes hadn't left her face.

His forehead crinkled slightly. "It's been a while since we've talked, hasn't it. I haven't really seen you since Ben's play—and Lauren's accident."

Anne wanted to say that they hadn't exactly been talking then, but it didn't seem the moment. They certainly were talking now. She smiled. "That was quite a night."

The expression on Derick's face darkened. "It was such a stupid way for things to end. It…changed the whole experience of the play for me. I'm sure all of it must have been awful for you."

Anne paused, unsure of what he really meant, unsure of what she should say, but finally she shrugged. "No, working on that play was a good experience for me." She would never have imagined herself saying it during the play, but it was true now. Time had given her some perspective and her circumstances had changed dramatically for the better. She was here with Derick now, wasn't she? If it had led to this, then it was all worth it. "I wouldn't change anything. I learned so much about myself, and I gained so much. Working with Ben opened doors for me. None of it would have happened without the play."

Derick was smiling again. "That's right! Ben told me your good news. Anne Elliot: composer," he said dramatically, and Anne laughed.

"I still can't believe that it happened. I was so happy when he hired me. I had given up on that life completely; I can't tell you how dead that dream was. And then, like magic, I'm composing for his new play. He's been mentioning a movie score in the future as well." She held up her hands, speechless for the moment. "I almost can't believe it. It's all too good. I'm afraid someone is going to come and take it all away from me." She was only half joking.

Derick caught her gaze. "You deserve it, Anne," he said quietly. "More than anyone else I know." Anne's chest suddenly felt tight with emotion, and she forced herself to keep breathing. Sharing this good news with him felt so much like the old times. And something had changed in Derick. Maybe it was the beautiful night—the champagne—the pretty dresses. All those old walls he'd had up were gone. He was the person she had fallen in love with.

The moment dragged, and Anne didn't know what to say.

"Ben told me his good news the last time we talked," she finally said. "His engagement to Lauren, I mean. I was shocked, frankly. I had no idea they were even involved."

Derick nodded. "They've been on and off for a while. It seemed like she was trying to use me to get back at him, and that's not the way you want to go about it. I didn't think they were going to work it out. Lauren is great, but she's not…"Derick shrugged, looking away from Anne for the first time. In this shrug and silence, Anne heard all of the things that Derick was too nice to say. Lauren was nice, but she wasn't good enough for Ben, which meant she wasn't good enough for Derick either. Anne was filled with a little rush of joy at the thought, petty though it was.

"But, if she makes him happy..." Derick finished with another shrug.

Anne found herself almost stuttering through the next sentence, she was so keyed up. "I think they're admirable for working through all of their past and their problems. I hope everything works out for them."

They stood in silence for a long moment. Anne's heart was beating so hard, she thought it must be visible through her dress.

Penelope Clay's voice cut through the room; she had returned to the podium and was making her speech. Anne didn't hear a word through the jumble of thoughts running through her head. Standing next to Derick was enough to knock everything else out of her mind.

He hadn't liked Lauren! Not ever. Anne had known it, but hearing Derick say it was gratifying nonetheless. And he had feelings for her. He must. He was here tonight at this stupid benefit, and he was here to see her. Anne knew it. The tone of their conversation, the way he had looked at her, everything led to one conclusion. Anne surreptitiously wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. She didn't want this interaction with Derick to end, but she didn't know how much more her nerves could take.

But finally, Penelope was done speaking about the plants.

"That was riveting, wasn't it," Derick murmured while clapping politely. Anne laughed, clearing some of the tension she had felt.

"I didn't hear a word," she said honestly, looking up at Derick. His eyes were crinkled into a smile. He sobered after a moment.

"Listen, Anne," he began, falteringly. "Could we…maybe…just talk…not here." He sighed and began again. "Do you want to get coffee sometime or dinner, maybe? There's just a lot that I—".

Anne had been standing, mouth agape, as Derick painfully made his way through the question. But an arm slinked its way around her shoulders, and Liam dropped a friendly kiss on the top of her head.

"Anne. Elizabeth and Penelope are _dying_ to talk to you about your dress. They sent me all the way over here to get you." She could smell the champagne on Liam's breath.

Derick had stopped talking the moment Liam had arrived and all the air snapped out of her like a deflated tire. She was opening her mouth to reply to Derick, to explain, to tell him to _finish his sentence for God's sake_, but Liam was talking smoothly over her, some words slurred together.

"Anne, will you introduce me to your friend?" Liam asked, though she was certain he knew exactly who Derick was. Unfortunately, Derick had already recognized Liam as well, from the deli and from the night of Lauren's accident. Anne shrugged Liam's arm off her shoulder, but Liam was already introducing himself, not waiting for her to speak.

"Walter thinks very highly of you," Liam was saying to Derick, but Derick cut him off with a fake smile.

"You should go see what you sister wants," Derick said politely. The smile was gone from his face a second after it appeared. Anne couldn't read anything in his expression. He was the Derick from the weeks before, stoic and unreadable. The one who didn't give a damn about her.

"I think I'll go mingle. I didn't realize we had been talking for so long. I haven't had a chance to say hello to anyone else yet. Walter would never let me live that down." Derick smiled again and excused himself gracefully. Anne was left standing with Liam.

He cupped her elbow and began to lead her toward where Penelope and Elizabeth were standing, but Anne jerked her arm out of his grasp. She craned her neck to stare after Derick. Where had he gone? He had it all wrong! Anne knew what it had looked like. She knew what she would have thought, had the situations been reversed, but it was all wrong. She just needed a second to collect her thoughts and then she would go explain everything. How to begin?

She could hardly pay attention to Penelope, who was trying to question her about her dress. She was scanning the crowd, looking for Derick's dark hair among the throngs of people. Finally she saw him among a group standing close to one of the exits. She heard snatches of Liam's conversation with Elizabeth.

"Oh, she's an absolute _bitch_," Liam was saying cheerfully, and Elizabeth looked totally enthralled. "None of the choreographers want to work with her, but she's sleeping with the artistic director, so…" Liam made a dismissive gesture, and Elizabeth laughed gleefully.

He was talking about one of the dancers he worked with, Anne realized absently. Her name was Kate. They had gone out with Kate for drinks a number of times, and Liam had never shown any sign of dislike for her. He was the best of friends to her face. It wasn't the first evidence Anne had seen of his duplicity, but it was the last she needed to hear. What did he say about her when she wasn't around?

'Anne Elliot? Oh, she's a frigid bitch. A total prude.' Anne could imagine it easily, and she suddenly couldn't bear the sight of Liam any longer. He was petty, mean, and he was frivolous. She didn't wonder that he and Elizabeth were getting on so well; they were the same person, deep down. Why had she come here with him? Why had she ever been his friend? He had just cost her so much.

She looked back toward where Derick had been, but he was gone. She had lost him. She searched wildly with her eyes and finally saw him collecting his coat from the coat checker.

Without saying a word to anyone, she rudely pushed past Penelope and walked as quickly as she could in her heels after Derick. She sped past the coat check and reached the corridor that led to the exits several moments after he had passed through it. Which one would he have taken? The back exit that led to a side street or the front exit with all the paparazzi?

She rushed down to the back exit, her heels clacking in the deserted hallway. The rush of air was cold on her face and neck, but there was no one at the back exit, no one on the street. Derick must have left through the front instead. She ran back to those doors, nearly losing her balance in her haste, but she was too late and she knew it. He wouldn't have stopped for the pictures; he was long gone.

She stepped back inside and placed her forehead against the cool wall of the hallway for just a moment, trying to cool her flushed skin. She felt furious tears spring to her eyes, but she tried to hold them back. Everyone would be wondering why she had left so abruptly. She couldn't look as though she had been crying, too. That would give it all away, and she couldn't bear to answer any of their questions. After a few minutes where she tried to take deep breaths, she decided to return to the main room. She would make her excuses to everyone and then take a cab home.

Her timid steps down the hallway became an almost enraged stomp as she stalked back. The breathing hadn't made her feel any better.

God help her for loving someone so stupid! She actually hit the wall with her first in frustration, but it hurt her hand so she stopped. Rubbing her wounded hand, Anne settled for a very aggravated sigh and then briefly closed her eyes, wondering how many times she and Derick could possibly mess this up.

She should have said, 'Please ignore this drunken idiot hanging on me, and yes, I would love to go on a date with you'.

She should have slapped Liam across the face, despite the fact that he hadn't _really _done anything to merit it. That would have showed Derick that Liam was nothing.

She should have said, 'Why don't we leave here now and get coffee? In fact, I have coffee at my apartment. Let's go there'.

Why had it all happened so quickly? Why hadn't she been able to _think_?

Derick liked her. He had accepted the invitation to the benefit tonight, he had spoken only to her, and he had asked her out on a _date_.

And Anne loved him, had always and would always, no matter how _stupid _he acted. She knew what had happened. He had put himself out there, made himself vulnerable, and then almost willfully misunderstood the interaction with Liam. He had added two and two together and had arrived at seven, all without even waiting a second for an explanation. He was jealous of Liam, Anne knew. Jealous of a man who meant nothing to her! It was absurd.

Anne could almost have laughed if it hadn't all been so terrible. It was not supposed to be this difficult. Anne would fix it all somehow. She didn't have a choice. She couldn't leave things as they were.

As Anne arrived back in the main room, she looked around, trying to find one person in particular. There! Standing near his boss was Matt Primm, Penelope's personal assistant. _He_ would know how to get Derick's number. She hurried over to speak with him. It was his job to keep track of all of Penelope's contacts and make appointments for her.

Maybe Penelope already had Derick's number. Maybe Walter did. Or, Matt could get in contact with Derick's assistant or agent, pretending to set up a meeting with Penelope. Anne didn't care how it happened, as long as Matt got her in contact with Derick. She might seem like a creep, and she might seem like a fanatic, but she was going to get that number. She didn't care what she looked like in the process as long as she was able to clear things with Derick.

And if worst came to absolute worst, she wasn't above going to Walter for help.


	11. You Are Tired

**From Where You Are**

Chapter 11: You Are Tired

* * *

**AN**: For those of you who have been so patient, I really can't thank you enough. Thank you for all your encouraging reviews and your sad pleas to hurry up and finish it already…

It was really my own Captain Wentworth who got me working on this story again, so you all have him to thank. And for those of you who ship Lily/James stories in the land of Harry Potter, I do have a story in the makings, so keep your eyes out for that. Again, thank you for all your support. I hope you enjoy this final chapter.

* * *

_But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,_  
_And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gates of your heart –e.e. cummings_

* * *

Matt Primm grinned cheekily at Anne, a knowing look in his eyes. "Hmm, got a bit of a crush on Derick Wentworth, have we? I saw the two of you talking over there." He let out what could have been a giggle, and Anne tried to make her face form something that resembled a smile.

She had approached Matt immediately after she returned to the circular room where the benefit was being hosted. He had been sulking by himself at one of the tables, but he brightened at the sound of Anne's request. Anne felt mortified; she sounded like a school girl—like she had pictures of Derick posted in her locker. But it didn't matter; she had to find a way to talk to him. There was no time for pride.

"Something like that," she said, trying to speak as lightly as possible, to not show how desperately she wanted Derick's number. "I know you probably can't give it to me, ethically speaking… but…"

Anne didn't know what to say. 'But I will murder you if you don't' seemed to be taking things a bit too far, though this was closest to the emotion that she felt.

Matt was still laughing at her. He shook his head and then looked Anne over, appraising her. "I've always liked you," he said suddenly, and Anne was filled with hope. "You seem like you might be the only person in the family with a soul. And Penelope has been pissing me off all week about this stupid benefit, so what the hell. What's the point of working for Penelope Clay if you can't use it to your advantage now and then?" he mused to himself as he scrolled through his phone.

He looked sideways at Anne. "And you've got no chance in hell with Derick Wentworth anyway, so what does it matter? No offense," he tacked on carelessly.

Anne could only nod, mutely. He was probably right, but she had to give it one last try.

* * *

"This user has not set up their voicemail account. Please try again later."

Anne gazed blindly at the room in front of her. It was, she thought, exactly what she should have expected. Getting Derick's number had been far too easy for her. Matt had given it to her, no questions asked, so of course something else had to go wrong.

As planned, she had called Derick the next morning. Waiting until the morning to call him had felt like torture, but she needed the time to think of what she would say. She would have looked insane if she had called him at 4 in the morning, so she had waited.

Anne had made herself start the day as she normally did. She made tea and had a breakfast of eggs and toast. She sat down in the living room with a sheet of bulleted points on her lap. She knew what she needed to say; she just hoped that he would let her. Liam's appearance had led to a colossal misunderstanding, and she didn't know how willing Derick would be to hear her out. But her hand was surprisingly steady as she dialed the number.

She was ready. If he picked up the phone, she would speak directly to him, and if not, she wasn't above laying it all out in a voicemail.

But it was worthless. She was not prepared for the phone to ring and then hang up on her. She realized with dawning horror that the phone would not take her to the voicemail. There was no voicemail. No way to explain herself. Just the endless, frustrating rings followed by that stupid automated voice. She felt worse than if she hadn't been able to get his phone number at all.

Anne was at a loss for what to do. She had been so sure that she could set everything right with a simple phone call and explanation. She almost burst into tears in the living room, the stress and anxiety within her was at a fever pitch.

She tried to breathe deeply for ten seconds. Everything was going to be okay, she thought, keeping her eyes shut against the tears of frustration. They weren't 21-year-old kids anymore; they were adults. This was something that they could work out. She just had to come up with something that a normal adult would do in this situation.

Her mind was utterly blank.

Anne's phone beeped, but it was only a text message from Liam. She scowled intensely. She was tired of his duplicity, tired of wondering what his motives were for their friendship. She didn't need to spend her time with someone who wasn't genuine. She didn't gain anything from his friendship. He wasn't her confidante, he didn't care about sharing in her triumphs or comforting her during her loses.

Anne couldn't say why she had spent so much time with Liam in the past months except that he had flattered her and stroked her ego during a low point in her life. And after last night, Anne wanted nothing to do with him.

She needed Derick to know that Liam meant nothing to her, and if Liam meant nothing, what reason could she possibly have to talk to him any longer?

Anne picked up her phone to arrange a meeting with Liam over coffee. The sooner he was out of her life, the better.

* * *

"You ran out so early! You missed all the good stuff." Liam was talking animatedly as they sat in the coffee shop. Anne was waiting for the right moment to end their friendship. She didn't know how these things were usually done. Thankfully, the coffee shop was mostly deserted, so there wasn't going to be much of an audience.

"Did you know that Bill Hurst just opened a new restaurant? Elizabeth said that she had a terrible time. They went on opening night, and apparently the restaurant was completely understaffed. I wonder how long she'll be in town. Maybe they could get us into that new club I read about on Lydia Wickham's blog."

Liam had spent the first half of the conversation raving about Elizabeth and Walter, and he was subtly moving into situations where he could be seen around the city with them.

Anne made no response. After waiting a moment for her response, Liam continued to fill the silence at the table while she stirred her coffee. He looked sideways at Anne.

"I just wish I'd had a few more minutes with Walter. He was about to tell me the name of an agent who specializes in dancers." Liam looked at Anne and dropped all pretenses. "Are you having lunch with Walter soon? I'd love the chance to talk to him about any movie opportunities. He seemed really amenable to the idea. Maybe you can get everyone together. Walter, Elizabeth—it looked like you knew Derick Wentworth pretty well…"

But Anne shook her head sharply at that comment. "Liam, I don't feel comfortable doing that. They're my family—not a way up the social ladder. And, honestly, we're not the kind of family that asks favors of each other. "

Liam lifted his eyebrows in shock. "But that's how things work in the industry! It's all about who you know and what they can do for you. Isn't that how you got your break? Would that play director have hired you if you'd never met before? Would he have hired you if he didn't know you were the daughter of Walter Elliot? No way. "

"I was under the impression that my talent as a pianist and composer got me where I am today, not my father's acting career," Anne said hotly, her teeth clenched.

Liam was looking at her indignantly. "What's the point of being friends with you if you're not going to offer me help when I need it the most?" he said, after a pause.

Anne almost laughed, though there was very little humor to the situation. All those years ago, her father and Dr. Russell had warned her against people like this: people who wanted to use her for her connections. They had been wrong about Derick, and she had been wrong about Liam.

She wondered, suddenly, what it would have been like had she started dating Liam. How long would he have waited before pressuring her to help him get ahead? It was a disgusting thought, and Anne was ready to end the conversation.

She gave an exaggerated shrug. "I don't think there is any point to us being friends, Liam. If I misled you into believing that I was going to help advance your career by pimping out my family members to you, I am sorry. It wasn't my intention. But I'm not someone you can use and then cast aside on your way up. I guess I thought you just enjoyed my company. " She slid off of her chair and grabbed her coat, purse, and coffee. "I did enjoy yours, for a while." She looked down at Liam. He hadn't interrupted her or tried to tell her she had misunderstood. He was looking moodily down at his drink, his mouth sullen. He wasn't even going to make an effort.

"Please don't call me," Anne said as she slid her arms into her coat. She slung her purse onto her shoulder and walked toward the exit feeling strangely vindicated. Out on the sidewalk, the wind was blowing wildly, but her mouth slid into a grin that she couldn't stop.

* * *

"I tell you, this boy, he's a wonder. Reminds me of myself at that age…I guess that's why they cast him!" Walter let out a customary roar of laughter, and Anne set her teeth. To hear all this praise for Derick from her father, knowing all that he had said against him eight years before and the instrumental role those comments had played in the break up was extremely painful.

But she still hadn't been able to reach Derick, so the little stories and anecdotes her father told were like a lifeline. They were the reason she had arranged to have this dinner with him. Liam had taught her something after all. Her father had a wealth of access to the Hollywood life, but more importantly, he could get her to Derick. She would just have to go about it the right way.

Walter leaned back in his chair, taking in the ambiance of the restaurant. A buzz of pleasant chatter filled the room, and waiters and waitresses in sharp black and white attire walked quickly past their table back to the kitchens to place the orders or out to serve the dishes to the patrons. Walter perked up in excitement as a sizzling dinner plate whizzed past them on the arm of a waitress, but it wasn't their meal. He sniffed the air lightly afterwards. The lingering aroma was delicious.

He looked overwhelmingly pleased with himself, like a fat cat licking its chops. They hadn't had any wine yet, so she knew he wasn't drunk. It appeared he was simply enjoying the dinner setting.

"You know, Anne, I'm just happy. To be doing a real movie again…I about died when this script fell into my hands, but I played it cool, acted like I was doing _them_ a favor, and then I blew them all away at the audition. I have to say, when I'm on—I'm _on_. I knew I had the part. You should have seen their faces."

With Walter, she knew it was all about waiting for the right moment. He would run out of breath before he got tired of speaking about himself. She waited until he took a drink of his water.

"The movie sounds really good. It's lucky that you're filming in New York. When's the next day that everyone will be on set?" she asked innocently.

"They're doing most of Wentworth's scenes in the next few weeks, but we're filming together in a few days for some sort of flashback rubbish. We had a meeting about the character, you know, body movement—voice inflection, and I said, he's going to speak like _this_ and move like _that_, and Wentworth just picked it up, easy as pie, so then I said, meeting adjourned! I told him, son, we've earned ourselves a drink—"

"Dad," Anne said, unable to wait for the pause in his monologue this time. Walter looked entirely taken aback by his daughter's interruption.

"This movie sounds so interesting. I'd really like to come see you on set. They'd let me, wouldn't they? You are the _star_, after all…"

Walter smiled at the flattery. "You haven't been to set since you were what—ten, maybe? I didn't think you had any interest in what your old man did for a living. Elizabeth, on the other hand, well…we know which side of the family she came from." He chuckled to himself, but then seemed to notice that Anne was still watching him, waiting for an answer. "I am the star, after all, and you should come see your pop's work. Come tomorrow."

Her plan had worked! But then again, if Derick wasn't going to be on set that day, then none of it made any difference.

"I can't," Anne lied. "But what about in a few days? You said everyone would be on set then…"

Walter looked unconcerned. "All right." He snapped his fingers. "I'll have my assistant get you a pass." He reflected for a moment. "Yes, that will be a good day; most of the scenes are about _me_."

Anne let out a breath of pure relief. Walter could talk for the next five hours and she wouldn't mind, she was so thankful. It didn't matter that she couldn't reach him by phone. In two days, she would see Derick in person, and nothing would keep her from making things right between them.

* * *

Walter's personal assistant led her back onto the set, saying that Walter was in his trailer, which she understood to mean that Walter was taking a nap. While the assistant ran off to wake him up, Anne tried to stand as unobtrusively as possible. A number of people were milling about the set, preparing for the next scene. The dual reality of the set struck her today, just as it always had on her few visits to her father's other movies.

Not too far ahead of her, there was a perfect little room that looked as though it came directly from the 1880s. The actors who were standing inside of it were dressed to fit. She felt like she had walked into a time warp. But with one step back, she could see that the room had no ceiling; it was just an isolated room with dozens of lights directed in specific spots. Crew members were holding microphones up to the actors while they stood on their marks. As a child, Anne had always thought that movie sets were bizarre and the feeling still held.

Walter sauntered over to her side with the unmistakable look of someone who had just woken from sleep. His eyes were puffy, but he greeted her with a large smile and then held a finger up to his mouth. "They've been doing this scene for the last hour. They started as soon as my scene wrapped. You missed it," he whispered, his mouth hardly moving. Anne opened her mouth, not knowing what to say to her father, but he smiled at her. "Not to worry; you'll be in for a treat with this upcoming scene. Though it looks like Derick has been having a hard time with it."

Anne looked forward with renewed interest. She hadn't realized Derick was in the scene. But there he was, in a dark suit with his hair slicked back and parted to the side.

"Can we move any closer?" she asked Walter, and he nodded. "Just as long as we don't make any noise. They're about to start."

She and Walter moved in closer just as someone yelled "Quiet on the set!" Anne could see and hear much better from where they stood now, enough to take in the details, enough to see just how pretty Derick's co-star was. She had impossibly long, blond hair and a face like a sculpture. Anne frowned at the thought of the types of scenes they had probably done together. Derick had moved to stand outside the door to the room. He was off camera and in shadow. Anne couldn't see what his expression looked like.

Then someone yelled "Action!" and she watched Derick walk into the little room from offset. He was in character, she could tell. Everything about him, his voice—his posture, was subtly different than in real life. He was fascinating to watch. She hadn't been paying much attention to the words he was saying, but Anne focused and managed to catch a few lines. Derick was speaking to the woman, and even Anne could tell that his words didn't seem very sincere. She didn't think it was a very good take.

"Cut!" someone said harshly. "Derick…" Apparently the director had agreed with her.

She saw Derick heave a sigh. "No, I know. I know." He was clearly frustrated. The scene hadn't lasted long enough for Anne to get a real sense of what it was about, but Derick was pacing in agitation. "I hate these lines. They don't _feel_ right."

The director was nodding. "I can tell loud and clear that you don't agree with what he's saying. We've got to get to some kind of compromise, Derick. This is one of the critical scenes in the movie."

Derick had set his jaw, clearly unhappy with how the day was proceeding.

"All right. We'll take a 20 minute break," the director said. "But we have to finish this today. Everybody better get it together by the time we start rolling."

People began to disperse slightly. Anne and Walter moved forward to what appeared to be Derick's chair. Anne saw him see her, saw his eyes widen and the shock that shaped his features. All of that would have been fine, except she had been hoping for a pleasanter reaction from him.

"Look who showed up," Walter said with cheer as Derick sipped from a water bottle. "I think you remember my daughter, Anne." Derick nodded. Anne could see that he wasn't in the best of moods.

"Walter invited me," she said quickly, though she had, in fact, invited herself onset. "I thought he'd be filming now." Another lie—but what did it matter.

Derick shook his head. "No, not until this evening." He was looking at her now, and there was a question written clearly on his face. Now that he was no longer surprised, he seemed happy enough with her presence. He was confused, but not displeased.

And all Anne had to do was say 'may I speak with you' and then tell him about the misunderstanding.

But she had never been brave, especially not concerning him. He was busy, she told herself. He was working and she would just be distracting him. He had less than 20 minutes before he had to go back to work, and who knew how long it was going to take her to say what she needed to say? And, now that the moment was actually in front of her, she was terrified.

Anne cleared her throat but then said nothing. She hated herself for being this way. She closed her eyes briefly, screwed up her courage, and tried again.

"What's this movie about?" was what came out of her mouth. She said it weakly, defeated. She was a mouse. She couldn't do it. And for all that Walter had said, he'd never mentioned the plot once.

"Do you want Walter's story or mine?" Derick asked, sitting down in the chair.

"Aren't they the same?"

He gave her a very brief, wry smile. "Technically, I guess they are. Our character is in love with a woman. They're going to run away together and elope. She's supposed to meet him, it's all arranged, but all these…circumstances keep her from getting there in time. He thinks that she backed out, and so he leaves without her. He never forgives her." Derick finished, speaking succinctly. There was no trace of a smile left about him now. He looked moody, brooding.

Anne had paled as soon as she understood where the story was going. The events were too similar; she couldn't look at him.

"And then 30 years later, Walter is telling the story to his dying adult son. Telling him about the great love of his life."

"Oh," Anne said quietly, feeling too conflicted to say more.

"They end up together. Don't forget that," Walter added, cheerfully. Anne looked at him in surprise. "Five years after she missed the train, right?" he asked, corroborating with Derick. "They work out all the differences and misunderstandings," Walter continued. "The story I'm telling is about the son's mother, but he doesn't know it until near the end. That's the big twist."

They were interrupted as a make-up artist approached and began to prepare Derick to redo the scene.

Walter leaned toward Anne conspiratorially. "They originally had this really bitter story where, when the two lovers meet again, she had just forgotten him and moved on."

"But that's wrong!" Anne said with animation, the response bursting out of her before she could control it. "That wouldn't have happened," she corrected, quietly, but still with feeling.

Walter laughed. "That's what the producers thought, too, I guess. They changed the script. Me…I don't know. I think I like the other way better. It gives it more of a gut-wrenching feeling." He rubbed his stomach, grinning. "Would have driven the audience nuts."

Anne could see in her peripheral vision that Derick was watching them and listening to the conversation. The make-up artist had to keep moving his chin to face forward as, without knowing it, he was gradually turning to the side. Anne had to say what she felt; this was the perfect moment.

"No, the writers were right to change it. Five years wouldn't have been enough time for her to move on. _40_ years wouldn't take the ache away. I don't think the bite ever goes out of an unhappy ending. Not if she really loved him." Anne took a ragged breath. Her throat was making it difficult to speak. "It doesn't matter who made the mistakes. They both did, probably. In five years, she'd just have regret and love: a kind of useless, futile love that wouldn't go away no matter what happened."

Walter looked at his daughter thoughtfully for a moment, contemplating what she had said, and then he shrugged mildly. Anne didn't dare look at Derick.

"That's what I imagine, anyway," she tacked on afterwards, mumbling.

The crew had reassembled, and before anyone could say anything else, Derick was called forward by the director.

"Derick, you've got to give me something that I haven't seen yet. Try something new this time. If it's crap, we'll throw it out. But I've got to believe that you really want to be with her. I haven't seen any real emotion or longing yet."

Derick nodded, his brows furrowed, before walking to his mark. He cast Anne one long, unreadable look along the way that left her totally bewildered. Someone yelled 'quiet on the set' again, and then, a few moments later, 'action'.

Derick stormed in again from offset. Anne watched as the actress looked up startled, and then her face shifted to show anticipation and pleasure at the sight of him.

And Derick…Anne was gaping at him. His mouth was set. In the bright lights, his eyes were so blue. Anne wondered why the actress wasn't melting into a puddle from the way he was looking at her. Anne was blushing hotly. She wasn't even in the scene—Derick wasn't even looking at her, but she couldn't help it. Every bit of him spoke of intense love and desire. Anne had seen the last take; it hadn't been anything like _this_. The actors had shown no chemistry, there had been no feeling at all in the scene. She wondered why he was suddenly putting so much emotion into it now.

Was it because she was watching? She wondered, she hoped, but she didn't know for sure.

And then Derick spoke his lines, the lines Anne hadn't heard the first time around. "Katie, I have to speak to you. Tell me that I'm not too late—that I haven't waited too long, please. You—you pierce my _soul_. I've never stopped loving you." Each word was ripped from him as though he had been dying to say it all for five long years, like he would explode if he didn't say everything right in that moment.

Anne had not heard the character's name, 'Katie'. She felt like Derick was speaking to her. She didn't see the actress's reaction, didn't hear any further lines. She was so absorbed that she was hardly breathing. This _had_ to be for her.

Anne jumped when the director yelled cut. She hadn't realized the scene was over.

Walter nudged her with his elbow. "Maybe you should come to all the filming," he said, smirking. Anne looked at him, brow furrowed, unable to make sense of anything he said. He finally elaborated. "That scene was phenomenal. That's the best Derick's done all day. I've never seen him act like that."

"What's happening now?" Anne asked, as everyone began to move in separate directions. Walter had just confirmed what she had been thinking. That had to mean something, didn't it?

"That was Derick's last scene today. They'll be setting up my scenes soon. Ready to watch your old man work?" Walter asked, clapping her lightly on the shoulder.

Anne found that she couldn't form a response as she saw Derick walking purposefully toward them. He hardly glanced at Walter.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked Anne quietly, and suddenly-dry mouthed, she could only nod her consent.

"Excuse us," he said, nodding to Walter, and then he grabbed onto her wrist lightly and they walked briskly away. Anne didn't ask where they were going. She didn't care.

Eventually they reached his trailer and he showed her in. The trailer reminded her of his apartment: a little messy and haphazard, only smaller.

"I just wanted someplace private to talk," he said, and Anne nodded.

She watched him pace in agitation while she stood, frozen. But underneath it all, her heart was beating a frantic staccato rhythm against her ribcage. He paused in his pacing and opened his mouth, but then shook his head.

"Hold on. I can't do this wearing make-up."

He went to the sink and washed his face quickly, his movements hurried and jerky. When he walked back towards her, he was toweling his face, but his eyes were on her. Finally he stopped and tossed the towel aside.

He was only a foot or two away from where she stood. She watched his chest heave with each breath he took, and then finally she looked up to his eyes.

Suddenly, he smiled crookedly. "Sometimes I wish I had someone who would write a script for my life. Someone who'd tell me the right thing to say right _now_. That's the nice thing about playing a character; you always have a line."

Anne wanted to respond. She wanted to help him out, but she was afraid that if she opened her mouth it wouldn't be words that came out, but vomit.

He raised a shoulder lightly and then dropped it. "I don't know what to say. I don't have any lines." He laughed suddenly, his eyes so blue.

"Except that 'you pierce my soul'. Would you buy that? You do. I've thought about you every day for eight years, believe it or not. I hated myself for it sometimes, and I hated _you_, but I couldn't have hated you unless I loved you, too. Believe me, I tried; I really tried to not love you. You have no idea how much time I spent trying to not be in love you with. I told myself that I didn't care, that you didn't matter to me. When I saw you again, I thought it was my chance to show you my indifference. But I was just trying to hurt you, to show you how much better I had been without you. I was _awful._ And I was just kidding myself. Wasting the opportunity to get you back…" His voice was suddenly desperate, and he closed his eyes. "_Please_ tell me you're not dating that bartender."

"No—no I'm not," Anne said immediately. With fumbling steps, she walked forward; she couldn't help herself. And then he was holding onto her so tightly that it almost hurt.

"Thank god," he said, his voice muffled in her hair. "I wasn't sure, but then you were _here_, and all that stuff you said to Walter…"

She pulled back to look at him, seizing her chance to explain.

"When you left…I don't know; something died in me." Hot tears flooded out of her eyes. "It was like _I_ had died. You don't know how much I regret everything. And when you came back, whatever it was woke back up. It was like I was broken, and then suddenly I wasn't. There were parts of me that wouldn't work without you. I haven't ever stopped loving you."

She'd stopped crying and carelessly brushed the tears from her face. He got the last one with the pad of this thumb.

Derick spoke, looking down at her. "I tried to hold onto that anger when I saw you again. But it just wasn't there. I understood why you had done what you did. I couldn't hold it against you. I probably wouldn't have a career if you'd moved with me. The fact that I was so damaged was the only reason I got that first role…" He shook himself. "When I saw you again, I couldn't be mad. You were the same. You were the same and I still loved you. You even do that little nod with your head when you finish playing a piece…"

She laughed lightly; she was too happy to think. It had been so long since she'd felt this; she almost didn't remember how to be this happy. He was stroking her cheek, and Anne was overwhelmed by the effect on her. Derick leaned in and then his mouth was on hers.

In the eight years she'd had to imagine a reunion, she'd come up with some really good scenes, but nothing compared to the reality of it.

They were pressed together, wildly kissing, like they would fly apart if every part of them wasn't touching somehow. Anne's feet weren't touching the ground; instead of bending to reach her, Derick had lifted her up. She had her arms tight around his neck, her hands in his hair. She couldn't really breathe, but she didn't care. She would die of asphyxiation before she would stop kissing him.

When he finally did place her down, Anne buried her face in his chest, feeling unsteady. Anne leaned back to look up at him. His cheeks were lightly flushed, and he gazed down at her, looking as happy as she felt. She suddenly smiled, mischievous, too happy to contain herself.

"The 'you pierce my soul' bit was too much," she teased, breathless and laughing. "I don't buy it. This isn't 18-whatever, you know."

He shook his head. "Oh, shut up," he said lovingly, and then he bent his head to kiss her again.

* * *

Lights flashed everywhere, and people were yelling names and questions from what seemed like every direction. Anne would have felt so overwhelmed and out of her element were it not for Derick's hand, so reassuring and protective, on the small of her back.

This world of movie premieres and shows… it had always been her father's world and her sister's. Anne had never had a taste for the spotlight. But she realized now that it all depended on whom she was sharing it with.

"There are so many cameras," she said to Derick, turning her head to speak to him. He waved and smiled just like the old pro that he was.

"Just keep smiling. We're close to the entrance now."

"But my face hurts. I smiled too much at the beginning."

Derick laughed jovially, his arm tightening around Anne briefly.

"Thank you for walking with me," Anne continued. "You're not even in this movie," she said, looking up at him. He gave her a soft smile and a brief kiss while flashbulbs exploded around them at the sight.

Months had passed, and Anne still felt a gush of happiness when Derick kissed her. She gave silent thanks for every kiss and every touch, astounded at how their story had turned out, amazed at how they had managed to return to each other. Even now, at the premiere of Ben's new movie, with her face aching from smiling and her toes pinched by her heels, surrounded by hundreds of paparazzi, Anne could feel nothing but gratitude.

When she and Derick were finally inside, Anne could hardly see for all the afterimages floating across her vision. She was teeming with excitement as they took their seats. She couldn't remember ever being this excited for any movie before.

But then again, this was _her_ movie. Or what she thought of as her movie, anyway. Technically, she supposed, it was Ben's movie; she had only written the score.

Nonetheless, it was her crowning achievement to date. Anne had never been more proud of anything she'd done. Once she and Derick were finally back together—once all of their misunderstandings had been cleared, it was like all of the dams inside her had been opened, and music came pouring out. She could barely write it all down fast enough.

The score for this movie was her, her troubles and her joys. The score was made from her songs of rebirth, of past and present coming full circle. They were songs of regret and loss, songs of love. And she was finally about to see all of her music set to motion. Anne wanted the moment to last for all eternity.

The theater lights dimmed around them, and everyone's voices hushed. Anne found Derick's hand waiting to hold hers. His hand was so strong, so warm and comforting, and she returned his gentle squeeze as the movie began and the first strains of gentle music swelled around them.

* * *

The End.


End file.
